


Remember Me

by AngieMun



Series: By Heart [1]
Category: Left 4 Dead (Video Games)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Cute Ending, Friends to Strangers to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Nick is about 27 and Ellis is about 24, au where Ellis is a singer but Nick has retained his misfortunes, i had to mess with the ages a little to get it to work so, my wife and i came up with this together, so like thank you babe for enabling my writing habits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2019-11-07 22:52:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17969579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngieMun/pseuds/AngieMun
Summary: On the word of his best childhood friend, Ellis takes a different path than the one he dimly remembers his father walking. There are no wrenches in his hands, and there are no cars for him to repair. Instead, his fingers are calloused from guitar strings, and he's known in a handful of Savannah's bars as Ellis McKinney - a young man with a golden voice, and a shy, sweet way of talking, when he's not onstage.On the word of the law, Nicholas Cassidy bounced from foster home to foster home, leaving behind the one good thing he'd ever had back in Savannah, Georgia. When he got old enough, he started traveling - seeing the states, and running into some trouble doing it. Nick is back in Savannah, now, and he might be able to find his way home. He just has to keep remembering.





	1. Happily

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is kind of dedicated to my wife, since she inspired / helped create it, and it's heavily influenced by Gregory Alan Isakov's cover of "The Trapeze Swinger". I'll link the video, and pray that it works. Regardless, you may notice that he bears a striking resemblance to Ellis; so he's the basis for Ellis's career, and singing voice. Plus this seemed like a cute AU.  
> The song that made the AU a thing!  
> There's gonna be eight chapters. Hopefully you enjoy your little stop-in here!

_“You still followin’ me?” Twelve years old, and just starting to grow into himself, Nick Cassidy scowls at the boy who trails a good few feet behind him. “Jeez, kid, go home or somethin’.”_

_“But…” the boy’s face scrunches, and he kicks at the dust, mumbling something beneath the brim of his faded ballcap. Nick steps closer, crossing most of the distance in that one step than the kid would in three._

_“What?” The kid shrugs, hunching his shoulders. Nick has to step even closer and lean down, nearly breaking his spine in order to see the chubby, baby-fat-filled, freckled cheeks the boy sports. “Say that again, kid. Can’t hear ya.” The soft chin drops further, but he’s close enough to hear now, and the words make him frown._

_“I don’t want the bullies t’come back.” There’s a pause that stretches a while, but the boy lifts his chin at some point, and the Georgian summer sun takes his cloudy eyes and makes them look like the blue marbles Nick conned some boy out of earlier that June._

_He slips a hand into his pocket, and feels the little fabric pouch he keeps them in - can feel them clack and grind together as he squeezes his fist around them. He can’t say no, now. Not just because of the marbles, but because he remembers being there. A boy, scared of bigger boys, and desperate to find some sort of defense, some sort of protection to keep him out of their reach. He looks at this kid, already gangly-limbed, with soft cheeks and bright, marble-blue eyes, and he sighs, releasing the marble pouch. He throws an arm around the kid’s shoulders, startling both of them for a fraction of a second, but he’s committed now, and Nick Cassidy is not one to back down from any kind of fight._

_“Alright, kid. We’re gonna go to the gas station, just a couple blocks from here, and we’re gonna get some slushies. You like those?” The boy nods, peering up from beneath the navy brim of his hat, a smile starting to stretch his face, and Nick smiles back. “You just stick by ol’ Nick, alright? I’m scarier an’ meaner than any bully this side’a the ‘Sippi. Speaking of names, you’re Ellie, right?” There’s a lull, long enough that Nick glances down in concern, finding the boy gazing ahead with a scrunched face. “I think it’s a nice name,” Nick reassures, and the boy’s face clears, bright eyes meeting his._

_“Ellie’s a nickname, but you can use it. My name is Ellis.” Nick smiles, shakes his free hand as they duck past the mouth of a parking lot._

_“Nice to meet’cha, Ellis. I got a feeling we’re gonna be best pals.”_

_“I hope so,” Ellis says softly - so quiet Nick barely heard, but he’s grinning ear-to-ear. “Ain’t ever had a best pal before.”_

_“Me either, Ell. Me either.”_

 

* * *

 

Twenty-seven year old Nick Cassidy is smiling as he wakes up, his memory pressing the strong taste of cherry-flavored ice - interchangeable for cough syrup - against his tongue until he pulls free of the fog of sleep, and it fades away, leaving him gazing up at the ceiling of his hotel room, still grinning, until that too falls off of his face.

His joints protest as he gets up, shuffling his way to the bathroom, where he strips out of his boxers, stepping into the shower stall and twisting the handle to start up the water. It’s frigid at first, and he gasps, but welcomes the freezing pelt of it, even as he’s relieved to find it warming up; soothing away stiff muscles and rinsing off the last bits of yesterday, when his plane came in.

Just a few months ago, he would’ve also likely been rinsing away blood - his or another’s, it didn’t matter - but he’s been on the right side of the law for a while, and while it feels slow and tedious, especially for someone with his thirst for adrenaline, he’s survived. Since he was never in _too_ deep with the shady dealings and movements of the underworld, his world has been relatively quiet, though he carries a few souvenirs from his stint as a conman and scoundrel.

Most significant is the gold wedding ring, hanging from his neck on a fine chain. He hasn’t been out in the sun often enough for the pale mark on his finger to deepen and disappear, but now that he’s in the south, he doesn’t think it’ll remain a problem much longer. The second, while less tangled up in drama, but still magnificently obscene, is a card tied to an overflowing bank account.

Nick may not have had hands as dirty as some, but he knew how to net cash, and how to frame others to take the fall for it. The multiple commas in the funds remind him that he’s not a good person - probably not even a tolerable person, despite his recent decision to bail on that life - but he’s never denied his shitty character, developed when he was given the boot from Savannah nearly eleven years ago. So fitting, that his first good choice of adult life is to return to the place he made his best decisions as a boy.

The shampoo is sweet, as he rubs it into his scalp and shakes the bubbles into the drain, voice rising in an aimless hum as he gives a final scrub and rinse, stepping out and reaching for the towel hung up on the wall, the shower hissing to a stop as he leaves it. His reflection mimics his actions, and it’s an effort to keep his eyes away from himself - not out of vanity; he knows he’s average looking, even with the curious black ink feathered over his ribcage - but because he doesn’t want to spend more time tracing that ink with his eyes - counting the petals on the flowers and wishing on each one, like he had been doing since he got it at eighteen, almost a decade ago.

His white suit is waiting for him, and it’s like stepping into the arms of a loved one. The damn thing has seen him through con after con; tense encounter after tense encounter. It’s the third one he’s bought - the other two having eventually become so trashed he may as well have borrowed an outfit from one of the showgirls scattered around the casino, but the effect is the same. Paired with plain black dress shoes, and this suit - his armor against the world - is ready for him to go exploring.

 

* * *

 

The city feels the same, but oh so different. Nick left early enough to cover most of his old stomping grounds, and then some, but he’s saved the best places for last.

The gas station he remembers hasn’t changed much in the interval years. It’s almost frightening, to run his fingertips along the counter in the back, where the slushie machines whir and hiss, and be convinced that if he closes his eyes long enough, when he opens them, he’ll be twelve again, Ellis clinging to his hand and watching, wide-eyed, as he fills up two of the biggest cups they have.

_“Gotta be careful, Ellie,” Nick said, gently lowering the cup into Ellis’s chubby-but-scrawny hands. “If you spill the slushie before you get the first sip down, you’ll have bad luck for a whole damn week!”_

_“Whoa,” Ellis mutters, eyes shining as Nick pushes straws into the frozen treats._

_“On three,” the twelve-year old directs. “One,” they both raise the cups, hovering with the straw right near their mouths. “Two,” they clamp the red plastic between their lips, still watching each other and trying not to laugh. “F’wee,” Nick cheers, and they both take a long pull, neither of them spilling a drop._

He leaves the gas station with a cherry slushie, and it’s just as bad as he remembers.

“Cough syrup,” he laughs, savoring the bitter flavor even after the empty cup is discarded in the trash. His feet lead him to the alley - still a dirt road cutting between houses - where he first met the marble-eyed kid that hadn’t left his dreams, all these years later. The alley had become something of a meeting place, once they learned they both lived relatively close to it.

_“You can come over to my house!” Ellis grinned - he was ten now, and he was starting to grow. A few more inches, and he’d be as tall as Nick - something Nick hung over him at all times. The older of the two snorted, tugging Ellis’s hat down to cover his eyes._

_“Sure thing, champ. ‘S long as your ma doesn’t mind.”_

_“She won’t! She’s been wanting to meet you, actually!” Nick laughs outright at that - maybe she knows him from talking to the other parents. Maybe she knows what kind of boy Nicholas Cassidy is, and she’s going to tear him a new one for being anywhere near her son._

_“Alright, alright. Lead the way, tiger - I’ve got your back.”_

Nick walks along the alley, humming under his breath. The alley spits him into a neighborhood, with houses that are faded and subdued compared to his memories, but they’re there nonetheless, although some have different outsides now.

A few more streets, and he stops on the sidewalk, gazing at a faded, emerald green house that sits quietly, even unassumingly, between taller, recently repainted houses decked in shades of blue and brown.

Ellis’s house. Nick remembers the first time he came here, and every time after. He remembers sitting on the front porch - now clustered with pots filled to bursting with flowers - and watching Ellis fumble his way around on a guitar.

_Nick bit down on his tongue, watching Ellis scowl at the strings that twanged awkwardly beneath his clumsy fingers. It was his birthday present to celebrate eleven trips around the sun._

_“Lindo,” he muttered, drawing the blonde’s attention._

_“What?” Nick shook his head, laughing softly. Spanish wasn’t Nick’s dominant language anymore, but he spoke it often enough with his auntie to retain the words._

_“Nothing, Ellie. Want me to help you?” Ellis’s eyes lit up, back straightening as he held the guitar out._

_“Can you play?”_

_“Sure.” Nick settled the instrument on his lap, picking at the strings for a moment before he found the right key. “This,” he said, shooting Ellis a look. “Is part of a song I really like, called November Rain. Watch my hands, Ellie…”_

 

* * *

 

There was no cure for melancholy like well-made diner food, and Nick was enjoying the therapy session. Chatter created a drift of white noise around him, adding to the relaxing atmosphere in the restaurant. Even this carried memories of shakes and fries split between himself and Ellis, soon growing to several orders’ worth, to keep up with the demands of their growing bodies. Sitting out on the warm pavement, breathing in the smells of grease and salt, joking that their arteries were actively closing, and ending the night by dropping Ellis off at his front step before making the short walk back to his own house.

“Honey, you gonna want more coffee?” Nick glanced up, smiling at the lady who had paused by his table, wielding a carafe.

“Yes, please.” He held out his mug, and she smiled as she filled it, before drifting on to the next table. Two creamers, and several sugar packets later, Nick was sipping at it, gaze roving across the diner.

There were a few families here, he noted. There was also a table of football players, and a man that was clearly their coach, though they were well-behaved and not at all rowdy like one would expect. They were animated, though - eagerly talking and gesturing with their hands as the older man sat, grinning proudly as praise and constructive commentary was swapped around the large table about what had to have been their most recent game.

The last item to catch his gaze was a corkboard, covered in flyers for community events. One stood out, with the paper a deep goldenrod color, with a wreath of forget-me-nots surrounding the block of text in the center of the page.

**Ellis McKinney, July 28th, 20xx - 10:00PM to 12:00AM**

**Treylor Park**

**Mix of original works and covers**

**Donations appreciated**

 

It was almost comical, the way his hand lowered the mug to the table, as if gravity had increased on his hand, alone. The first two words were running a track in his brain, refusing to leave, and increasing in volume the longer he stared.

 _Ellis McKinney_.

_Ellis._

_Ellie._


	2. Fondly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me a minute! Hopefully it’s worth the time for both you as the reader and I as the writer!  
> I tend to have a minimum of 2k words which may seem like a lot or a little, depending, but c’est la vie. Just explaining why things may take a day or two. :P  
> Apologies for any grammar or formatting or spelling errors! I checked a couple times, but might’ve still missed some!

_“Good evening, Miz McKinney.” Lottie McKinney, fourteen years Nick’s senior, jumped, her keys falling from her hand and clattering on the floor._

_“Oh!” She laughed, putting a hand over her heart. “Nick, you sneaky little thing! Where’s Ell?” Nick rests his shoulder against the doorframe, casting a glance behind himself, where he can just see Ellis, slumped over into the space he’d been occupying, fast asleep._

_“Out like a light, ma’am. Think he wore himself out with the excitement of being eleven.” Lottie smiles, reaching out to chuck him under the chin._

_“Thank you, for looking after him today.” She hesitates, then sighs and pushes on. “I’m sorry to ask this, but do you think you can look after him tomorrow night, too? I just need to catch up on work, and I don’t know if--”_

_“I’ll do it,” Nick interrupts, keenly aware that she’s approaching tears. Her eyes are sparkling in the dim light of the kitchen - glossy and bright, like magazine pages. Her jaw clenches, and she sniffs, wiping at her face and laughing. It’s watery and weak, drawing a sigh through Nick’s nose, low enough that she won’t hear._

_She looks like his Auntie this way. Defeated, uncertain… scared._

_“I’m sorry, Nick. I-I must seem like a terrible mom, I--”_

_“Naw,” Nick breaks in again, an easy smile masking his discomfort. “You’re doin’ just fine, Miz McKinney. I haven’t met anyone yet with common sense who didn’t like Ellis, and you raised him, so don’t worry your pretty head. Can’t have you getting any grays in that there mane of sunshine, ey?” He reaches out, tugs gently on one of the curls coming free from her bun, and she laughs again, less wavering._

_“You’re sweet,” she says, her gaze drifting past his shoulder, to where her son snores on the couch. “You’re also welcome to stay the night. I’m sure Ellis wouldn’t mind it, and I sure don’t.” Nick chuckles, shaking his head._

_“Better get on home. It’s not too dark, and Auntie will probably want my help cleaning up. I’ll see you tomorrow, Miz McKinney.” She grins at him - bright and soft._

_“Goodnight, Nick.”_

_He slips outside, letting the door close gently behind him as he trots through the grass, the light from the kitchen licking at his heels until he reaches the fence and turns towards the alley._

_The walk passes in a blur. It’s so familiar now that it feels like three paces from Ellis’s house to his own._

_His house is dark and quiet, which is something of a relief as he retrieves the spare key and enters, locking the door behind himself. He leaves the lights off as he pads down the hallway to Auntie’s door, opening it gingerly and peering inside._

_No sound, no movement. The plate of food on the table has been picked at. Not as much as he’d like, but there’s enough missing that he wouldn’t count it a total loss._

_“Goodnight, Auntie,” he whispers, the words curling around his teeth; sweet Spanish, reserved for the four walls that make up this too-quiet home. The sheets sigh back at him, a body moving in the grasp of sleep before everything settles, and the door closes again, Nick staring at the plain white wood._

_Twenty minutes and an unlit shower later, he’s curled up in his bed, staring up into the dark as his mind barreled onwards like a runaway train._

Some favors, _he reminded himself, grimacing helplessly,_ are more than I can do.

 

* * *

 

Nick’s phone emits a series of noises, prompting him to grab for it, coffee left unattended and eyes leaving the poster only long enough to check the Caller ID.

The string of numbers puts a grin on his face as he jabs the ‘answer’ button.

“This a business call, or a booty call, Frannie?” Silence reigns for a moment on the other end before a harsh laugh has Nick’s grin widening.

“Oh _fuck_ you.” The ex-conman laughs, posture relaxing at the biker’s tone.

“Would if I could, sweetheart, but I’m outta town. Gotta find some other sucker to stroke that ego of yours.”

“ _Whatever_. Called to see who would pick up. Rumor mill around here says you crawled off into a hole t’die. Somethin’ about another gang? Now that I know you’re alive, though… Care to give me some info as to why my best pal up and fucked off to— where are you?” Nick had to stifle his laughter, schooling his face and voice into calm. Francis, at every opportunity, bitched about anything under the goddamn sun.

“Savannah.”

“Yeah, fucked off to Sav— wait, wait, wait. You’re in _Savannah_ _fucking_ _Georgia_?”

“Uh-huh.”

“The fuck are you doing there?”

“Right now? Listening to you bitch.”

“Ooh look at me I’m Nick Cassidy, I’m bilingual, all the chicks find my accent hot, I pull off cons with the ease of cracking a fucking egg, but god forbid my buddy bitch about me being halfway across the goddamn country!”

“Simmer down, grease monkey. Didn’t know your Cheerios were served with piss this morning.”

“Eat shit, Cassidy. I’m sick of you.”

“ _Ouch._  You get your insults from a cereal box? Economy must be tanking up there.”

“Go to _hell_.”

“See you there.” The line cuts, and the device is placed gently on the table.

Their friendship, based on mutual antagonism and delightful banter, is complex and strange, even for them. But Nick likes it just fine the way it is, thank you very much.

The phone is flipped for a check of the time - 6:38. He’s got plenty of time to kill, and a very important stop to make.

 

* * *

 

The nice thing about graveyards is they aren’t locked. At least, this one isn’t. Plastic crinkles in Nick’s hands - a bouquet of flowers he hadn’t really looked at while purchasing. Rows pass him by without much notice, his grey eyes picking out familiar landmarks in this, his least favorite of places.

_Ellis, at his mother's side, looking at him with wide eyes. Nick knows he’s not the Nick Ellis is used to. No wild mop of dark hair, and no impish rainstorm eyes, peering at the world like it’s a grand adventure._

_Right now, that Nick is gone, and he’s been replaced by Nicholas Cassidy, nephew of the deceased, with slicked back hair, a fancy suit, and misty eyes that blend right in with the tombstones, somber and frighteningly devoid of the usual cheer._

_“... attending today the burial of Irena Cassidy. She was a kind lady remembered for her sweetness and caring nature. It is in the nature of life…”_

_Nick isn’t listening anymore. His eyes are still on Ellis, who stares back, the pieces visibly clicking into place for him - the past few years of dodging questions and direct requests regarding ‘Auntie’, the way Nick had always been so self-reliant, hedging when authority offered assistance._

_“She is survived by her only nephew, Nicholas.” That’s his cue. On wooden limbs, he stands; faces this small crowd of people that have gathered; summoned up by the obituary, and by invitation._

_Lottie McKinney is gazing at him, all softness and sweetness, and he can taste homemade tart - apple and sugar and cinnamon - on his tongue. He shuffles his thoughts, banishes the knots in his throat and stomach, and speaks._

_He uses Spanish, not English. This is his goodbye to Auntie, and she had always preferred the one just a little over the other, in the way one prefers a perfume._

_“The beauty of this tongue suits me better, doesn’t it, my sugar?” She would ask, eyes twinkling playfully at him._

_“Yes, Auntie,” he would say, grinning back._

_“Just as English sounds so cute in your mouth,” she would say, pinching his cheeks and kissing his forehead. “My little star, I’m very proud of you.”_

_She’d told him that every day, when she could. She was proud of him. Always proud of him. Her star, and her sugar, and her sweet little demon. She was proud._

_He knows he talks - can feel his mouth dry and his throat close up, but the words slip past like water in his hands, and he’s seated again, the ring in his ears drowning out everything._

_One phrase stands out to him, surfacing now that the torrent is over, and his mind is calming._

_“I want her to stay proud of me, always. I love her too much for anything less.”_

 

_Ellis barely waits for the funeral-goers to disperse before he’s at Nick’s side, warm, calloused hand slipping into his. Thirteen and fifteen, they stand in silence, watching the hole fill with dirt._

_“I’m going to a foster family tomorrow,” Nick says, and the hand in his tightens._

_“We coulda taken you in, if you’d said.”_

_“I know.” The grip tightens - a Vice around his hand. He welcomes it - the crushing weight of Ellis’s disappointment. It’s_ something _, at least, and not the resounding_ nothing _that had been surrounding him for a week._

_“So why didn’t you say nothin’, Nick? Why did you let it sit so long? Now they’re takin’ you away, and I don’t know if I’ll see ya, and—“ The hand is gone, replaced by a shove that has Nick’s slight frame, even with Lottie McKinney’s cooking, stumbling a step back, staring blankly at Ellis, who is now just two inches taller than Nick._

_Hands fist in his nice shirt, and he’s glad Lottie is around the corner, unaware of the current situation. Ellis’s eyes are blazing - blue fire that cuts through the grey haze and sets Nick’s mind moving again._

_“Why, Nick?_ _” A strange expression crosses Ellis’s face, and it takes a moment for Nick to place it. When he does, his stomach and heart fall through the dirt, coming to land level with Auntie’s final resting place._

_Loathing._

_“I hate you.” Something must finally change in Nick’s face, but even if it hadn’t, Ellis’s immediate panic is visible. The angry fists in his clothes become desperately apologetic - they wind around to clutch at his back as Ellis leans into him with everything he has, rattling off apologies in English, with a handful of Spanish thrown in - words Nick had taught him over the years. It’s cute, to hear the stumbled-over phrases that Nick knows by heart after so many times apologizing to Auntie, to himself, to others._

_“I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry!”_

_“I know,” Nick mutters, turning his head into the wild curls against his cheek. His eyes scrunch - burning with the effort of keeping them dry for so long._

_“I don’t hate you, I just don’t want you to leave!”_

I know _._

_“Lo siento!”_

Lo sé _._

_He can see the social worker eyeing them, and he knows it’s time to wrap it up, as much as he’d rather stay._

_“Ellis._ Ellie _.” Ocean water meets a rainstorm, in the hazy daylight of a clouded Savannah summer. Red-rimmed curiosity meets shadowed grey resignation, and the moment stretches on for a long time as a smile breaks - rueful and more than a little amused by the futility of words in moments like this. “Hang on to that guitar. Suits you better than a wrench, I think.” Ellis stares at him, and a light appears, like a candle lit at the farthest end of a street._

_“I’ll see you again.” Nick chuckles, plants a kiss to each side of Ellis’s face before releasing and brushing past him._

_“Bet on it, Tiger,” he calls over his shoulder. “See ya, someday.”_

 

* * *

 

Nick sighs as he crouches in front of the recently-cleaned headstone, reaching out to trace his Auntie’s name with a wry grin.

“Hello again, Auntie. I’m back in town, for the first time in a long time.”

It used to be weird to him, to so casually speak to a stone, as if it was the person it honored. But he’d seen others take comfort in it, and had soon found the same true for himself.

He’d missed it, in the days he’d avoided Savannah.

“I’m here for you,” he says, laying the flowers down. “And,” he laughs, his ears burning softly as he imagines Auntie's attentive, knowing gaze. “I’m here for a boy. Uh, a man. I think I told you about him once. His name is Ellis, and I’ve… missed him. He’s playing tonight, and I thought I might say hello. It might be awkward, but… everything is, and if I’m here, I might as well, right?”

He lingers, talks a little more, but there seems like there’s nothing else to say.

 _“What are you waiting for?”_ He can imagine Auntie saying, smacking at him with a dish towel, grinning the way she did before sending him off to gray the hairs of someone else. _“Stop wasting time, Nicholas! Go find this boy you’re so bound and determined to see!”_

“Yes, Auntie,” he laughs, palm warm against the cold stone of her grave. “I will, and I’ll come back and tell you all about it.”


	3. Frightening

Nick nudges the door of the bar open, met with a rush of air and sound - laughter drifting from the main floor out into the entryway, where he pauses, breathing in deeply. Cigarette smoke flavors the air, and he sighs, almost a little relieved. He liked to indulge now and then, and tonight could very well be a night for it, if he didn’t chicken out.

“Focus.” He rolls his shoulders, tips his neck until the bones creak and pop, and moves further in, weaving around people hovering in groups. They make room for him, offering polite smiles and curious glances as he drifts by. Some individuals even seem interested in talking to him, but a tight-lipped smile makes it clear that he doesn’t share the desire, and he’s left alone.

It’s nearly a quarter to ten o’clock, but it seems that Ellis is popular enough to warrant an early crowd. Nick spots an open seat at the far end of the bar, and angles towards it, the flow of conversation and overhead music a background hum. The seat he’s chosen is right by the stage - one of the spots the crowd is the thickest. He’s nearly there when he knocks shoulders with someone that had been focused on someone else behind them. The impact hurts a little - the person is thin, but well-built, and Nick can feel the iron of muscle in the arm he grabs to stabilize them both.

“Whoa, there, Tiger--” the words jump out before he can stop them, and it’s as the man lifts his head, curly brown hair giving way to wide blue eyes that Nick catches up to the moment.

He and Ellis stare mutely at each other for a moment; deer caught in headlights, before Nick bolts.

The twenty-seven year old can move fast when he chooses to, or when certain circumstances make the choice for him, such as the crazy girls he used to flirt into infatuation, or cons gone sour before his eyes. But never in his life has he whipped himself into crossing a distance like he does now; quickly and quietly weaving his way towards the entrance and trying to pretend like he hadn’t felt a hand try to catch the back of his suit.

Out in the cooling air, tucked around the corner from the door, he presses his weight against the rough wall, eyes tightly closed.

Just as he’s thinking it would be a good time for that smoke he promised himself, the door creaks open.

“Yeah, yeah, thank you - excuse me, please.” Ellis’s words are rushed, ending as the door clatters shut. There’s quiet for a moment, then footsteps; Ellis padding carefully forward.

“Nick?” The voice is just a few feet to his left, raising gooseflesh over Nick’s skin and starting up a tremor in his hands, which curl into fists inside his pockets.

_Stay still stay still stay still stay still— stay fuckin’ still, you dumb coward, you—_

“Nick?” It’s louder this time, with an edge of concern.

Isn’t _that_ familiar.

 

* * *

 

_“Nick?” Propped up by the fence, Nick turns on his megawatt smile - a long shot when it comes to bullshitting his way past Ellis, but better than nothing._

_“Hey. Just on my way home. More tired than I thought, I guess.” Ellis, standing on his porch, frowns, takes a step closer towards the ring of darkness beyond the light._

_“Maybe you should crash here, then. We don’t mind. You know that.” Nick laughs, fingers flexing and stopping the sound sharply._

_Grabbing ribs that may or may not be busted is never a good idea._

_“Nick?” Ellis is at his side in a flash, and the lanky thirteen year old has the pleasure of watching his eyes widen in shock and concern. “Nick!”_

_“Looks worse’n it is,” he mutters, letting the smile drop into a grimace. “I’ll be fine in a couple’a days.”_

_“You need t’ see a doctor, or call the police or somethin’,” Ellis protests, and Nick shakes his head, scrambling whatever brains he still had in working order._

_“Not on my life. This is family business.”_

_“Your_ family _did this to you?” The fury is blinding and immediate._

_“That’s not-!” He stops, takes a breath that aches on the way in and on the way out, and watches Ellis gingerly stop bracing himself. “That’s not what I meant. I know how to treat myself, but if I get real hurt, I’ll go see one’a those quacks, and get cops involved. Until then, I’ll handle it like a Cassidy.”_

_“What does that mean?” Nick smiles, and it’s genuine, despite the discomfort wriggling over and through his nerves._

_“Carry a bigger stick, an’ don’t let ‘em see it til it’s comin’ down on ‘em.”_

_Ellis laughs, and the worry bleeds into a secondary thought. As long as Nick can keep it there, he’ll be satisfied._

 

_Ellis is constantly checking him for injuries after that. Some days, he finds fresh ones. Some days, there was nothing new for him to fret over._

_The day the injuries are worst, however, the two of them simply lie down in the grass and stare up at the sky._

_“You got that bigger stick yet, Nick?”_

_“Almost.” Nick’s face is bruised - lip crusted in blood. Breathing and talking pulls at tender muscles. “Tomorrow, I think.”_

_“Will you tell me what it is?”_

_“Afterwards.” Ellis leans up, turns to look at him. Dark grey eyes slide over to him, brows rising._

_“Promise?” Nick chuckles even though it still hurts to do so._

_“Yeah. I promise.”_

_“Nick?”_

_“Yeah, Ellie?”_

_“You ever think about who we’d be if we never met?”_

_Nick sighs softly, closing his eyes._

_“Sometimes.”_

_“What do you imagine?”_

_A kaleidoscope blurs past Nick’s mind - voices and noises overlapping in a dizzying chorus as he imagines a world where he did not stop to interfere in the pushing around of some small kid in an alleyway._

_He can hear the clink of gambling chips - a sound that still carries over into his dreams, when his mind conjures up the blurry specters of his father and mother. He can hear the whisper-soft click of a gun slowly cocked, and the rustle of a silken nightgown._

_He can hear a distant rumble - brontide that threatens some far off land and never comes closer. He can feel static crackling along his bones, and a throat dry with terror, compounded with the overpowering, primal need to_ run.

_He never understands these nightmares, where cold hands scrabble at him through thin fabric, where he smells sugar and vomit and can hear the thin wail of a sobbing woman, fading out as his own rapid heartbeat fills his ears._

_“Trauma,” the one psychiatrist he’d been sent to had told his Auntie, still cloaked in black mourning clothes and grim-faced. “He does not know it on a conscious level - he’s only a boy, still, but his mind is processing. The nightmares are normal.” Nick, nine years old and sitting quietly beside the secretary as she tried to coax him into playing with some toys on her desk, glanced briefly at the cracked-open door, and away._

Trauma, huh…?

_His vocabulary is just big enough to know what that means. He lets Auntie explain it to him anyway, out in the car, and he clings to her desperately when she breaks, perfume and tears clinging to her clothes, her skin, as she cries into his hair._

 

_It might be part of why he chose to intervene for Ellis, really. Try to save some other kid from stretches of missing memories and nightmares that leave him vomiting, sweating, scrabbling at his own skin like it’s an ill-fitting disguise, with itchy seams where someone tried to make it fit him better, and only succeeded in catching his flesh with the thread._

_Sure, it was just a handful of bullies that time, but these things are fast and sneaky, and lord knows that Ellis - summer rainstorm-eyed Ellis, with a mane of curls and a crinkled nose when he laughs - doesn’t need to know what other faces the darkness wears when the world sleeps._

 

_“A really different world,” Nick finally murmurs,half-split between something somber and playful amusement, and Ellis chuckles._

_“I get that.” The smile in his voice dies out, slips away in a sigh. “Sometimes, I remember that I’m real lucky you stopped to see what was happenin’.”_

_Nick smiles - the kind of smile that hurts his face and narrows his vision - blinding him with his own contentedness._

_“Nah. I’m the lucky one.”_

_Ellis bolts upright, leaning over him and grinning down, which makes Nick laugh._

_“What?”_

_“Yer doin’ the smile,” Ellis drawls, looking downright pleased with himself. “The good smile. The one you only do every blue moon.”_

_“I smile all the time!” Nick protests, sitting partially up and almost knocking noggins with his friend. “What are you talkin’ about?” Ellis shakes his head, moves to give Nick a little room, but still sitting close, his expression relaxing into something warm and affectionate._

_“Not these smiles. There’re special smiles.” Nick hums, reaching up to ruffle Ellis’s hair and earning a yelp of protest._

_“Well, you gotta be a special kid, then, cause most of these smiles’re cuz of you.” Ellis wrestles with Nick’s arm, trying to keep his fingers out of the messy curls that are in desperate need of a trim, and they’re both laughing._

_“Shut up! Knock it off! Niiiick!”_

 

* * *

 

“Nick!” As a boy, Ellis’s raised voice had been like a puppy yapping. This new sound, startling the older man and causing him to knock the back of his head against the wall, is more like something he’d expect from a bear. “I know you’re still around here!”

_Still here, and still a chicken. Where did all that bravado go, Cassidy? What happened to telling Auntie about this touching little reunion?_

“Come on out, man,” Ellis says, quieter, almost plaintive. “I really wanna see ya.”

 _To punch me in the mouth, I’m sure,_ Nick grumbles, but he complied with the request, shuffling his way to the alley mouth. Ellis has his back to him, straining his senses down the street, resting on the balls of his feet as he leans out of the light cast by the barfront.

“Ellis.” The air feels thick. He knows Ellis heard his voice - can see how the Georgian shifts his weight back, gauging his own desire to turn against his fear of disappointment.

“Nick.” The voice is equally split between the strain of excitement experienced by the long-separated and by dogs, and the carefully-modulated tone of someone who is bracing for the worst. “You ran off right quick.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” _Turn around._

“I don’t think it’s just coincidence you’d be here tonight.”

“It’s not.” _Please turn around?_  “Got word of a singer being here tonight. Heard good things about him.”

“Yeah?” _If there is a God up there… c’mon and strike me down now, big guy._

“I, uh… thought I’d come give him a listen.”

The pause that follows is lengthy, and Nick comes to a revelation. For him, Hell would not be fire and brimstone and devils armed with everlasting pain. Hell would be holding a conversation with someone still dear to him where every sentence feels awkward, and they don’t quite acknowledge his presence.

“Sounds about fair,” Ellis finally muses aloud. “And what’re you gonna do after?”

“I… my night is pretty free.” Under any other circumstance, Nick would probably be able to charm his way right into bed - he’s done it before. But here, in the heart of his old city, with one of the few people in the world that keep his stunted, neglected emotions alive in his presence, he’s about as smooth as a goddamn jackhammer.

“Then, after you see that singer, I think we should talk.”

“Okay.” Ellis nods slowly, his shoulders lowering significantly.

“Okay. I’ll…. see you. Meet me, here.”

“Okay.”

Ellis turns and walks stiffly inside, passing by where Nick lurks in the edges of the light, and those blue eyes - every bit as bright as Nick can remember - stray close, yet not quite close enough to see him fully before Ellis vanishes inside the bar again.

Nick has to take a moment before he follows, and he’s definitely promised himself a nice pack of somethin’ deadly by the time the night is over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That took me a minute! 2k is more words than I remember, but never fear for I am still working away at getting these nerds together!  
> First meeting! Kind of! They still need a minute before they do literally anything.  
> I am slightly ill, so any mistakes can be forgiven, but I’ll screen through later just to be certain, but that will also account for the clunkiness this chapter might have had.
> 
> Next time in Remember Me, Nick gets unintentionally serenaded, there’s finally some communication, and we learn more about where our boys have been while apart.  
> Hopefully the way I slipped in a reference to the game canon makes sense, considering it’s also combined with this au timeline of Nick’s life; it looks a little muddled even to me, but...


	4. Mistakenly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy, I’m back.  
> Finally at the halfway point! I’ll need to start wrapping this puppy up, here!  
> To save myself a headache, starting in the next chapter, Spanish will be indicated with italics, because I believe we’re done with direct flashbacks.  
> (Ellis definitely learned Spanish after Nick left - you can pry that out of my cold dead hands.)  
> Fun fact - Lucia is the name I tend to default to for feminine-presenting people that have some sort of significant role in Nick’s life, even if they get maybe two seconds of “screentime” in the story itself. For masculine individuals, I favor Lucas!  
> At the end of the chapter, I’ve got some good news! (Depending on how much you’ve enjoyed your stay aboard the S.S. AngieMun...)  
> Let me know if there are errors, tell me where I could’ve done better, etc etc, see you in an unspecified amount of time shorter than a month! (Hopefully!)

Far too soon, Ellis’s eyes have adjusted to the lights glaring down at the stage, and he can see Nick, hovering just inside the door, half-obscured by other patrons.

It’s a little unnerving, to have those cool grey eyes fixed on him again after so long, but he can’t lie and say that it’s not exciting, too.

“Well, good evening, y’all.” He laughs through the scattered cheers that greet that simple statement. “Hey, now, don’t get too wild. Ya still haven’t heard me sing, or play, or nothin’ yet.” He pauses, fingers brushing lightly against the strings of the guitar hanging from his shoulders. “In case ya didn’t know, my name is Ellis, and I’m technic’ly s’posed to play from now til midnight. I dunno if I’ll make it that long, but I’ll sure try for y’all.”

He shifts, meets the eyes of Hunter, standing to his left, and smiles.

“I reckon just about everyone here has heard this one… y’all know that there ain’t no rest for the wicked?”

It’s a simple pattern - playing for the public. Draw out their energy in the first few songs, then tone things down again and get them thinking. It works almost every time.

So that’s how the first hour runs - energetic songs that get people moving and dancing and acting fool for their friends and loved ones.

Just after eleven, Ellis knows it’s about time to slow down. He’s been really pushing his energy - fueled by grey eyes crinkled in amusement, when he summons the courage to glance in that direction - but he’s wearing out faster than he’d like to admit, so when the chatter dies down after a break, he takes the opportunity to switch tracks.

“Y’all have been great tonight - real good company. But it’s summer, and summer ain’t summer without thinkin’ about our special someone’s.” A few hoots agree with him, and he can see eager excitement on some faces.

He’s known for being ‘soulful’, after all, and those who have seen him before can smell the impending change in mood like sharks in bloody water.

“Now, some of us are lucky enough t’have our special someone with us. Some of us, are not so lucky, and they’re somewhere else. Some of us’re _real_ unlucky…” he trails off, seeking out Nick’s face and finding him gazing back, eyelids lowered - closing the shutters on his expressive gray eyes and leaving them carefully dulled.

“An’ we jus’ kinda… never stopped loving ‘em, no matter how far they got,” Ellis finishes, his voice softening significantly. “Kinda dumb on our parts, huh?”

He’s never been quite this open with his audiences before, and people are noticing. Some gaze at him with pity, or empathy, or fond sadness, and he has to shake off the odd weight wrapping itself around his ribs.

“So, here’s a couple little songs about that, for all of us that ain’t very fortunate. First one ‘s called Walnut Tree.”

He keeps his eyes stubbornly away from Nick for the length of the tune, focused on the soft melody of Hunter’s keyboard as he picks along the strings of his guitar. It’s not Nick’s fault that Ellis has harbored a crush for the greater part of eleven years, and what does it matter that he didn’t come back sooner? Nothing would be that much different, really. At least, Ellis doesn’t think so. He’s grown enough to have shed the complex, rosy daydreams of young adoration, and look at the situation a little more maturely.

Nick may not be available to him, and Ellis has had time to accept that. Eleven years is a long time to be separated from anyone, and Nick is older than him - he may be married now. Hell, he might have kids or something. Ellis can’t know just from one glance what life has blessed his childhood friend with, and it’s not fair to assume that Nick wouldn’t be here for anything but a final goodbye.

But, there’s still a small corner of Ellis that clings stubbornly to his daydreams, and purposefully interprets Nick’s words - tinged with far more Northerner than when he was younger - to mean that he’s not here just to leave all over again.

Besides, this goes both ways. Nick was clearly not quite ready to do… whatever he came to do. He ran when he recognized Ellis, but then again, Ellis didn’t look directly at him until they were separated by a bar full of people. It’s an awkward little dance they’re in, but Ellis is willing to bite the bullet first, and hope that Nick will follow his lead.

Ellis croons out the last sentence, and only then does he seek Nick out; spurred by the familiar pressure of longing in his chest. Grey eyes are fixed on him, still shuttered and dim, but he’s smiling wryly - acknowledging that Ellis is allowed to send some barbed words his way, sung softly and sweetly or not.

But that’s how Nick has always been. Ellis could say anything, and Nick would only lift the corner of his mouth to neither confirm nor deny it.

A graveyard memory flashes through the Southern man’s head and leaves him cringing internally. Not a proud moment.

“And another one,” Ellis says, clearing his throat. So he continues, weaving his way through songs that are lovingly melancholic, and with each new note his voice strikes, the more his own chest hurts.

His mama told him once that love was like that. Love could be sunlight and lemonade and burning blushes that last for days, but love could also be aching inside and feeling so tired when they’re apart from you, and being relieved to have them back, even if it’s been just two minutes since they were there.

Ellis isn’t dumb, and try as he might to choke down the great big swelling thing in his chest, it crawls up his throat and flavors his voice husky anyway - makes the words that much more personal.

And So It Goes, by Billy Joel. Nick is grinning - the tight-lipped grimace of someone innocent yet guilty, and Ellis gnaws his lip between the words, searches for songs that will properly acquaint Nick with what Ellis feels, but everything comes out in a tangled knot anyway - simmering resentment and all.

November Rain, by Guns N Roses. The last song Ellis wants to sing tonight - picked in a fit of melancholy over the fact that it was the month marking their eleven-year separation. He’d memorized it before Nick left, with the older boy’s guidance. Afterwards, it became one of the few things he had that, in a way, _were_ Nick.

He can see the moment Nick recognizes the chords, his eyes closing entirely as his body simply… relaxes. He sinks into the familiar melody as if he’s been waiting for it all his life.

It’s only as Ellis is ducking offstage, half-paying attention as he accepts compliments, that he considers that maybe he has been.

 

* * *

 

Hunter beat him outside. He’s not sure why the ginger approached Nick in the first place, but Ellis catches the tail end of whatever conversation they were having as he steps out into the cool night air.

“... spouse are you on now, Casanova?” Nick is silent, regarding Hunter with the cold expression that had chased off so many of Ellis’s fears as a younger teen. “Oh, maybe you’re still hung up on Lu—“

Nick has always had startlingly fast reflexes, and it seems like he hasn’t lost them. His hand is fisted in the collar of Hunter’s jacket in the span of time it takes to blink, and Ellis’s stomach drops as he sees Nick’s hand grasp at the empty space a pistol would sit against his thigh, if he were carrying one.

Hunter is laughing, a little wheezily, as Ellis jogs across the pavement.

“Whoa! Hey, now, c’mon, Nick, let ‘im go. Hunter, back off.” After a moment, Nick shoves Hunter away, glaring venomously at the ground as the ginger stalks away, sneering. “What’d he say to get’chu seein’ red, Nick?” The last time he’d seen Nick this furious, it had been on his behalf, and he’s just a tiny mite jealous, even though he knows that it’s maybe kind of shitty t be. Whatever it was, it was history he didn’t share with either of them.

Nick avoids his gaze, and his question, grey eyes flinty, and Ellis sighs.

“ _Okay_ … How about this, then; let’s go get some coffee, and talk like I wanted. Sound fair?”

“Fine.” There’s a flicker of relief in Nick’s voice, and in Ellis’s chest, and the singer puts a careful amount of distance as he leads the way to a cafe just down the street.

 

* * *

 

Ellis is keenly aware that he might have an unfair advantage in the impending conversation, and that is Nick’s honesty. People may change over the years, but Ellis is willing to bet his every penny that, just like the Nick of eleven years ago, the Nick that sits in front of him will not lie to him, unless he has an ironclad reason to. By contrast, Nick would likely accept anything Ellis told him, blatant lie or not, without really questioning it.

Another of Nick’s little quirks that both endear him to, and somewhat concerns Ellis.

The coffee is hot against his tongue, but he has the pleasant surprise of watching a faint smile overtake Nick’s features.

“Easy, Tiger. Nobody’s gonna take your coffee.” Ellis hisses, dabbing the tip of his tongue against his teeth to test how badly it’s hurt.

“Yeah, yeah.” He can feel the silence start to close back in, so he takes the plunge to open the line of conversation he’s most curious about. “So, you’re in Savannah alone?”

“Yeah.” Nick’s hand stirs, rings clinking against his coffee mug, and the sound draws Ellis’s gaze.

All golden. One looks to be just a plain ring - fancy, and probably expensive, but plain. The second has a symbol embossed on it that he’s not familiar with. The third really captures his interest—it’s a wedding ring.

He’s talking again before his brain can catch up to his mouth.

“Leave your wife back home?” Nick blinks, jaw briefly tensing before he follows Ellis’s gaze to the golden ring on his left hand. He sighs ever-so-softly, lightly touching the metal with the fingers of his other hand.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Fiancée, then?”

“No.” The melancholic smile playing around Nick’s face is equal parts amusing and frustrating.

“Then—“

“Ellis? I’m not married. Or engaged.” Ellis sits back, blinks like Nick had just told him he was secretly a parishioner, on his way to tend his loyal flock of believers further south.

“Oh. Uh… the ring?”

“Gift from a friend.” Nick’s face softens. “She wanted to marry me. Didn’t get the chance.”

“What happened to her?” Ellis is trying to curb his curiosity at least a little bit, but he can’t be blamed for wanting to know about this girl that loved Nick.

“You know that outbreak they had, up in the Northeast, that got quarantined?”

“Sure. CEDA ‘n shit got involved. Some kinda super flu?”

“Right. She was one of the nurses sent up to look after the people that got sick. She, uh… didn’t have a strong immune system. She called me one morning, wished me a good day, and the next day, I get another call telling me she’s gone.”

“What was her name?” Nick chuckles, briefly closing his eyes as his grasp on the coffee mug tightens.

“Lucia. Fiery woman - knew what she wanted, and damn if she didn’t go after it. Always said I was the one thing she’d never catch, but she bought me a ring anyway, in case I ‘changed my mind.’” The happiness melts away a little as his eyes open, finding Ellis after a moment. “Your friend, Hunter, has somethin’ to say about her.”

“I heard some of it,” he admitted. “Somethin’ about spouses, you bein’ a Casanova, and bein’ hung up on Lucia?” Nick hums confirmation, taking a gulp of coffee and clearing his throat.

“Casanova Cassidy. Some silly nickname I got because I talk nice, an’ people like that kinda shit. Take a compliment, and run a fuckin’ mile with it, they will. All sorts of people think I’m some sleazeball fuckmachine, just cause the Looney-Tunes attached to their hip thinks it’s real cute that I talk Spanish and don’t take shit.” The progressive blend of northern and southern inflections in his tone is honestly a little bit hilarious, but so is the content, and it doesn’t take more than a second for Ellis to be snickering, which makes Nick smile. “Yeah, laugh it up, man. I talk _real_ funny.”

“Man, it is jus’ _weird_ not hearin’ you talk in a drawl,” Ellis laughed, still trying to stifle himself. “What the hell them northern folk do to ya, Nick?” Nick grins, leaning back and regarding Ellis with warmth in his grey eyes, almost like nothing has changed since they were friends eleven years ago, but there’s a tightness to the curl of his lips that takes Ellis a minute to notice.

“You mean other than show me a world without mud and creepy crawly shit all over my life? ‘Bout fuck-all. But anyway, what about you, Killer? Got someone other than your ma to give you sugar?” Ellis’s nose wrinkles.

“Really, man? ‘S a weird way to talk about her. I been dippin’ my toes in the pool, but I dunno if I want somethin’ to bite yet.” Nick chuckles, making an understanding gesture, and they lapse into silence, but it’s at least a little more comfortable.

Nick’s gaze slides to the window, staring at the dark street outside, which gives Ellis time to study his features and come up with a way to phrase his request-slash-offer.

“Hey, Nick.”

“Hmm.”

“I know it’s late, an’ I’m not sure if you’ve got someplace to be—“

“Just a hotel.”

“—and I know we ain’t done talkin yet, but I feel like it’s probably a conversation for somewhere a little quieter.” Nick hums again, then smiles in a way that, to Ellis, absolutely justifies the nickname ‘Casanova’.

“You invitin’ me home with ya, Tiger? Hope you know what you’re gettin’ into.” It’s playful, crass, and Nick puts enough drawl in it that it sounds exactly like something younger Nick could have said. Ellis’s ears warm drastically, but he forces an unimpressed look as he lays out the money for their coffee.

“Shut up, Cassidy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like the way I write these two nerds? Boy, have I got good news for you!  
> In a holding pattern are three so-far unnamed fics that will be (much) longer than Remember Me! The one thing they have in common, other than a potentially soul-rending helping of angst, is Nellis!  
> Fic number one was born roughly the same week as RM, and is all about werewolves! Nick must juggle his identity, a string of murders and disappearances linked to the werewolf community, and his new blood relation to someone he barely knows.
> 
> Fic number two takes most of the canon timeline and tells it where to stick it.  
> The second-game survivors still meet during a zombie crisis, but now they’re at the source - the lab where the Green Flu was developed, and where a handful of errors leads to the eradication of a large chunk of the East Coast.
> 
> Fic number three is the least complicated - a soulmate au, where pain is shared between those destined to be together, alongside the preexisting red thread, which appears in moments of crisis, when one truly needs their complimentary soul.  
> You would think immune people wouldn’t have so much trouble finding each other when the whole world is going to shit, but as they say; love is blind.


	5. Dreamily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I get a holler for any Tauruses in the ranks of the readers?  
> It’s our season, and I’m loving the energy so far, which is why I’m going to crank out updates a little quicker than in three week intervals.  
> (I made Ellis a Gemini and Nick a Scorpio for somewhat obvious reasons.)  
> Remember, to save headaches, Spanish is in italics unless an obviously stated memory!

It’s with a mix of surprise and delight that Nick realizes what house they’ve pulled up to - faded green paint and enough flowers to start a shop.

“You still live here,” he remarks, voice quiet in the stillness of the night. Ellis glances at him from across the hood of the truck, eyes gleaming in the light cast by the street lamps.

“Yeah, we do.” Nick swallows the question that rises up in his throat and walks through the yard, flowers brushing against his hands and clothes as Ellis unlocks the door, swinging it open and stepping inside.

“Careful,” he says over his shoulder, kicking his boots off. “The door-“ Nick braces his foot against the door, pushing it further into the frame to twist the deadbolt. When he turns, Ellis is watching him with an odd expression, somewhere between unnerved and amused. “... Yeah.”

“You still haven’t replaced that?” Nick asks, and he smiles to lessen the bite of it. Ellis shrugs, eyes flicking to the side.

“Nah. Weird door is the least of our problems.” Silence hangs for a moment, and just as Nick takes notice of the heels lined neatly against the wall, a dog rounds the corner, emitting soft half-barks that make Ellis laugh, dropping into a squat to meet the dark shape. “Hey, Cherry! Didja miss me, girl? Yeah, yeah, you did. You’re so good, you’re the best girl. How was your day, baby? Didja do a whole lot of nothin’ you lazybones queen?”

Nick, bemused, watches through the dark, eyes adjusting as the minutes bleed past.

“Nick, this is Cherry,” Ellis says at length. “She’s the prettiest coonhound this side of the dirt.” The pride and affection in Ellis’s tone make the older man smile.

“I’m sure she is.”

Ellis had always wanted a dog. When they were kids, he would run through names like a fox with a tail on fire, and then run through them again just to be certain, all while literally dogging Nick’s heels on whatever adventure they’d chosen that day.

“You’ll see her better in the morning. Go on, Cher, go lay down.” She does so, but not after a cursory sniff of Nick, and a good lean against his legs for a petting. “You good with bein’ fixed up on the couch?” Nick snorts softly, rolling his eyes as he follows Ellis through the kitchen.

“Of course.”

They move quietly, never straying more than a few feet from one another. It’s like an invisible cord binds them together by the hip, and neither of them want to test the range it gives them as they pull out the blankets and pillows and create a decent nest for Nick on the smaller of the two couches.

Being closer, now, Nick realizes that Ellis has an inch or two on him, and it’s a thought both rankling and amusing.

“Ya finally outgrew me, Tiger.” Ellis, zoned into another world, jumps and blinks at him.

“Huh? Oh!” He looks at Nick a little more scrutinously now, and finally smiles; a slight upwards quirk of his lips that makes him look even younger. “Well, damn. Guess I did.” The smile softens, and his eyes slide away, towards the staircase. “I’m gonna grab ya some sweats and a hoodie, if you don’t mind wearin’ mine.”

“Sure.” Ellis disappears into the dark and Nick remains where he stands, looking around the dark living room and trying to pick out details where he can, but it’s only a minute before Ellis stands before him again, holding out a dark bundle of fabric.

“Should fit you just fine, since I’m taller ‘n’ all.” Nick hums, glancing over Ellis’s shoulders and chest. Taller _and_ broader, Ellis has definitely filled out in the years he had been gone. Nick had never really gone much past the scrawny-but-strong phase of his life.

Without much ceremony, Nick removes the white jacket and starts working on the buttons of his blue shirt. Ellis gives him privacy by turning away, busying himself with the nearest bookshelf, and the only sound is the rustle of Nick’s clothes.

He’s just pulling the hoodie over his face when he hears Ellis make a sound of surprise.

“You have a tattoo?” Nick pauses, one hand wriggling free of the fabric to lightly touch the black lines crossing his ribs.

“Yeah. More than one, actually.” Ellis is studying it intently, thick eyebrows drawn down into thought as he traces the ink with his gaze.

“It’s pretty. Those are daisies, right?” Nick shrugs the rest of the way into the hoodie, then peels it back up to show his side again,watching it flex and shift with his breathing.

“Yeah. Daises and, uh… rainflowers.”

“Does it mean anything?” Nick shrugs, letting the blue fabric fall back down over his hips.

“Sometimes it means everything, sometimes it doesn’t.” Ellis doesn’t waver, blue steel gaze as sharp as it ever was in the dark living room. Nick fidgets, then caves, his face flushing warm as he bends all of his attention to the wall, and not the man standing in front of it. “It’s… a memorial, kind of. Daisies stand for love. Like an… eternal, soulmate kind of love. And rainflowers….”

“And rainflowers...?” Maybe it’s the lateness of the hour, or maybe the topic of conversation, but their voices have shifted into lower, rougher registers.

Ellis’s voice is fresh-ground coffee - rich and deep and sweet in a strangely clean way. Nick is all rasp - a file on metal bars, and hoarse patches where the words hiss out at awkward counterpoints- too sharp or too flat for the rest of the sentence.

“ _I will never forget you.”_ The words snag in his teeth as they rise - honesty his default for the blue-eyed force of nature that stands quietly awaiting his answer. The words are halted, to remain distant brontide before the implications can strike between them like a true summer storm. Nick grins - wide and amused - instead. “Something about being a better person. It’s been a while, I don’t remember everything the artist said.”

Ellis glances at Nick’s chest again, and he can almost see the tattoo clearly - daisies twined around the fretboard of a guitar, with the slender blooms of rainflowers filling in the gaps, lining the empty door to the guitar’s hollow insides.

“So,” he finally says, breaking the quiet. “We’ll talk in the morning.” Nick glances pointedly at the clock on the wall, proudly displaying the time of three-and-some-change AM, and Ellis smiles wearily. “Yeah, whatever.” He starts to turn, but stops when Nick clears his throat.

“Hey, Ellis?”

“Yeah?”

“C’mere.” It's a nonchalant, unassuming request, and it’s only when Ellis is drawn in, fingertips dancing up the exposed bellies of his forearms, dragging him into arms he’d been vacant from for ages, that he processes it.

His head ducks low into the shoulder he has to hunch to reach, and he feels the dully-sharp angle of Nick’s jaw press into his hair as his arms wind up, nails pinning the fabric of his own hoodie to Nick’s spine.

“Missed you,” Nick says softly; almost a croon. Ellis’s heart jumps in his chest, stuttering over itself, drunk on some strange cocktail of elation and nerves. This is where he wants to be, isn’t it? Safe and secure - wanted by the soft-spoken, ice-chip-eyed man that looked at the world like he wanted to change it, and knew he could. So, why then, does his stomach drop, and his brain beat a tattoo on the inside of his cranium? Why are his eyes wet, and the great yawning cavern in his insides swallowing him alive?

The truth comes without fanfare or surprise, and it sinks into his bones and sets his nerves alight, crackling and leaping and jittering.

He feels at home.

These past few years have been lovely, and he wouldn’t trade many of the memories he’s made for anything, but always, always he felt like there was just one puzzle piece missing. One mug of too-sweet coffee, filled with sugar otherwise unused, and flavored with creamer that nobody else drank. A sense of humor with a biting edge but velvety wrapping. Here, at three am in his living room, he has that last piece willingly stationed in his arms, and his soul is bucking off eleven years of complacency.

That or he’s finally jumped the cuckoo’s nest, and this is just the penultimate meltdown.

When Nick’s arms loosen after what feels like far too long a moment and far too short an eternity, Ellis fountains out some scrambled words and flees, leaving Nick to quietly put himself to bed on a relatively comfortable couch. Ellis, however, can’t sleep for a good hour, warm tears soaking his lashes and leaving him gritty-eyed and congested when he finally does doze off.

 

* * *

 

Ellis is the earliest riser in the house; always waking by five, excepting weekends, where he stretched it out to nine at the latest. But he wakes up just a little earlier, and is dressed by eight-fifty.

Still, to come downstairs to a neatly-folded next on the couch, and the heady scent of coffee in the air was a complete surprise.

Even stranger, there was a voice in the air, but it was not Ellis who sang, and neither were the words in English.

The several years of Spanish Ellis had taken have come in handy, but never so much as now, when he hovers in his own living room, listening to the wax and wane of Nick’s voice. After a few lines, he gets the gist of the song - it’s a love song, directed at a weeping girl. In Nick’s voice, low and honey-smooth, the tone is even more haunting. The singer makes obvious edits to the lyrics, omitting some words and falling into humming for others, and Ellis listens in quiet wonder, leaning his shoulder against the bookshelf and closing his eyes to listen better.

“ _They may keep me from loving you, my sunshine, but I’ll never forget you_.”

Contrary to the overarching theme, yet somehow just as melancholy, the words Nick almost sighs out are sweet; volume lowered dramatically enough that Ellis has to strain to hear and understand, given a minute to flip the words from Spanish to English.

His ears scorched red as he opened his eyes, mouth scrunched in an odd mix of a grimace and a grin.

Someone singing like that _had_ to be in love. Inhaling deeply, he purposefully knocks into the bookshelf as the singing dies out, approaching the kitchen with as neutral an expression as he can muster.

 

* * *

 

They both procrastinate until lunchtime, and find themselves in the backyard after the sandwiches Ellis makes are eaten, warm grass the perfect seat as they prolong the silence and stare at clouds. Ellis finally finds his voice.

“I was never angry with you, Nick.”

“Mm.”

“I jus’ didn’t want you to go somewhere I couldn’t chase ya down.”

“I know.”

“Ma was upset for a while, too. You was like the other son she never had.”

“I know.”

“Course, I got older, ‘n I knew you could do as you wanted, cause you were an adult just a bit before I got there. So… I guess I just wanna let you know that you don’t gotta feel guilty or nothing. I ain’t holding grudges, and there ain’t a mean bone in ma’s body. That lady _loves_ you, an-“ Ellis cuts the sentence off, grinning sheepishly. “An’ anyhow, ain’t nothin’ you could do to make me dislike ya, neither.” He strokes Cherry’s side, where she lays beside him in the grass, and finally risks a glance at Nick. “I’m hopin’ it’s the same fer you, but I ain’t gonna hold it against ya if you wanna keep on movin’.” Nick, eyes closed, face turned up to the sun, opens his eyes, and they’re almost silver; brighter and more lively than Ellis can remember seeing.

“I may not be the best at reconnecting.” A playful smile curls Nick’s mouth, and Ellis’s ears suffer another flash of warmth. “But once I’m around, you’re gonna have a helluva hard time to give me the boot. Your couch is mine, s’long as I can reasonably stake a claim to it.”

Ellis’s relief, like his responding laughter, is completely genuine, and Nick is grinning back, eyes crinkled at the corners. It’s the special, blue-moon smile Ellis recognizes from so long ago, and the words from then swim up in his brain, sweet as honey even now.

_Most‘ve these smiles’re cause of you._

 

* * *

 

Lottie calls ahead to tell them she’d be in town soon, and finally home a little after dinner,  so they hold off on eating; sitting at the table and talking about everything and nothing, dancing around minefields without even realizing it. Nick shares stories of Lucia, and Ellis describes one of his closest friends, though he holds off a lot of details, intending to introduce the two later.

It’s nearly nine o’clock when the bell rings, and they both get up, Nick finishing up a story about the time Lucia beat up a man three times her size with a softball bat while wearing a pair of dagger stilettos.

Ellis unlocks the door, still laughing at the way Nick described her ferocious expression, that ‘put the fear o’ god into everybody, even the atheists,’ within a block of the spectacle.

The door creaks open, and they both stop cold, staring at the guest on the doorstep.

It’s Hunter, ginger hair soaked by the rain currently falling, and sporting a charming grin as he leans on the frame.

“Hey, Ellis,” he says, eyes and voice soft as downy feathers. “I know it’s an awkward time, but I’m hoping that by coming here, I’m preventing a huge mistake on your part.” Ellis blinks, draws furrowing down.

“What?” Hunter smiles wider, casting a very unsubtle look, loaded with malice, at Nick.

“The few times we went on dates were the best times of my life, and I really want to make more memories like that with you.”

“Hunter, what—“

“Ellis, will you marry me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s not a whole lot of build up to it, but Hunter is 100% That Dude who professes love solely so you can’t date someone else. Complete and Total Nice Guy.  
> Ellis did say he was dipping his toes....  
> Luckily for all of us, six wraps up the angst, and seven and eight are mountains of tooth-rotting fluff.  
> And when that’s all over, keep an eye out for the companion piece slash sequel, which opens up an entirely new bag of worms.  
> Ever wonder what happened with Ellis’s dad...?  
> Wink wonk.  
> Apologies for errors, drop a comment and screech at me; I shall return to you soon!


	6. Misery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felt a little like I was losing steam with this one - might have to revisit it and make it cleaner and more coherent.  
> Now that it's (temporarily or not) out of the way, we can dive into two chapters of tooth-rotting cuteness, which may be longer than the 2k standard I've been measuring against this whole time.  
> The three other fics are in the works, along with the sequel/companion piece to RM, and a series of survivor oneshots set in the canon universe.  
> I have a lot of free time this month.

Ellis blinks, eyebrows lowering further over his eyes before he sighs.

“Come in, Hunter.” Nick’s teeth grind together, but he silently backtracks into the kitchen, watching as Ellis and Hunter come in after him.

“I’m glad you’re willing to talk about this,” Hunter gushes, and Ellis only hums, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. “Maybe your guest could give us a minute?” He glances sideways at Nick, who stares back with equal blank-faced animosity before his eyes flick to Ellis. The message is clear - Nick will be dismissed by Ellis, or not at all. The youngest of the trio is doing his best to retain a smile, but his clenched hands and gritted teeth make it clear that he’s not enjoying this.

“Ellis?” Nick prompts softly. “Want me to give you a minute?”

“Yeah,” Ellis relents after a moment, expression caving into exhaustion before he straightens out. “Porch, maybe?” Nick hums and breezes past the both of them, searching his pockets and turning up his faithful lighter and the last remnants of a pack of Marlboros. A light whistle has Cherry getting up from her place beneath the table, shuffling to his side as he opens the door.

“After you, girly,” he murmurs, a smile curling his mouth. She huffs and moves past him, tail beating at the door as she passes through. The door creaks shut, and Nick casts a glance back inside, meeting eyes with Ellis for just a moment before he turns away and puts some space between himself and the house, going through the familiar motions of lighting up as he keeps an eye on the coonhound sniffing along the fence.

 

* * *

 

“Before you say _anything_.” Ellis cut across Hunter as the ginger opened his mouth. “I’m not going to marry you.” Hunter’s expression froze, then faltered.

“Oh. Is… I mean, is it because of _him_?” The emphasis is accompanied by a tilt of the head towards the door. “He’s that guy you knew, right? Like, back when you were younger.”

“He is.” There’s no way to lessen the stiffness in his voice, even though he knows Hunter is a good friend of his. “It’s not because of him.”

“Not fully, anyway,” Hunter mutters, just loud enough for Ellis to catch. “But I get it. He’s handsome, charming, rich, smart…”

“Rich?” Ellis shakes his head. “Nick ain’t rich. He’s about on par with me, if we’re talkin’ money.” Hunter pauses again, and there’s a malicious little gleam in his eyes that Ellis doesn’t like at all.

“Oh, so he hasn’t told you. _Interesting_.” It’s bait, and Ellis knows he shouldn’t fall for it, but curiosity and indignance override his logic, just for a moment.

“The hell are you talking about?” Hunter’s smile grows, and Ellis’s stomach drops.

“He’s loaded beyond your wildest dreams, Ellis. His current bank account puts the accumulations of your entire bloodline to shame, and that’s just from seven years of it! Of course, it’s all _dirty_ money, but if you’re devoid of morals, I guess it doesn’t matter.”

“Dirty money?” Hunter hums, adopting a sympathetic expression. On one hand, the way he’s leading Ellis into questions reeks of manipulation, but on the other, Hunter knows about what Nick has been up to during his life away from Ellis, and while it’s best to learn from the source, the older man hadn’t been very forthcoming with information, aside from the occasional amusing story or interesting memory.

“Hard to keep your hands clean when you’re involved in a gang.”

The kitchen is quiet for a few moments, and then Ellis sighs, running a hand over his face.

“A gang.” It’s a statement, more for his own sake than to draw more information out, but Hunter pounces anyway.

“Yeah. Last I remember, he had a ring with the logo.” Ellis’s head rises sharply, eyebrows furrowing, and Hunter takes that as confirmation. “You might not have heard much of it, since they’re largely in the northern states, but they’re called Hell’s Legion.”

 _Hell’s Legion_.

Ellis recognizes that name. His mom has some newspaper clippings about them from when Ellis was younger. When he asked about it, she had simply smiled and told him not to worry himself over it.

He’d wondered, throughout the years, if they had anything to do with his dad, but without a full name, he could never dig anything up on the man he’d never met.

“I don’t mean to meddle in business that isn’t mine,” Hunter is saying, studying his expression intently. “But it’s my firm belief as your friend that whatever… _relationship_ you have with Cassidy, you terminate as soon as you can.” The words hang in the air, Ellis frowning at the china cabinet. “I’ll be with you every step of the process,” Hunter offers gently, moving to his side and placing a hand on his arm. Ellis doesn’t stop him or shrug him off, and Hunter grins where Ellis can’t see him, too lost in wandering through his own thoughts. “And, maybe, when you’ve had time to move on…” Ellis moves then, gracefully stepping out of Hunter’s reach and turning to face him.

“I’ll be level with you, despite you not seeming to want to listen.” There’s a new edge to his voice now, somewhere between anger and exasperation. “I ain’t gonna marry you. I said it before, and I ain’t gonna date you, either. We had fun those few times we went out, but I really don’t see it going anywhere. You’re a good friend, but this conversation is showing me a side of you I’m none too fond of.” Hunter’s eyes widen, and Ellis can see him mentally backtracking, sorting through his options. The curly-haired southerner might be forgiving, maybe too much so, but he’s not as naive as people want to assume.

“What do you mean?” The words are careful, primed for defense or offense - whichever he thinks he’ll need, now that Ellis is brushing off his advice.

“You’re awful manipulative.” Ellis’s tone is low. “All this conversation has been is you laying out a neat little path from this _situation_ I’m in, and that path leads right around to you.”

“B--Ellis, I know how this looks--”

“Do you?” Eyelids drift lower over blue eyes, leaving them lukewarm and cooling quickly. “Nick may not always be an honest man, but I sure ain’t expectin’ him to be. What he shares, he shares, and anyhow, his track record is better’n’yours by about a mile. He ain’t trying to con me into nothin’, regardless of what his profession may’ve been in the past. As for our _relationship_ , well, I’m of the mind that that’s between th’ two of us, and ain’t your place to interfere, and as flattered as I am about the concerns of a _friend_ ,” the word is irrevocably stressed, leaving no room for argument or weaseling the definition. “Th’ only relationship I’ve a mind to terminate is a relationship with someone so self-servin’ they’d come meddle where they oughtn’t, and paint good people into devils.”

If Hunter were a dog, Ellis is sure his tail would be between his legs.

“I see.” Ellis hums, blinking slowly, lazily.

“Much obliged, Yates.” Hunter blinks at the use of his last name, aware that there is a coffin, and it’s being nailed shut around him. “Widen your eyes a mite further, ‘n’ don’t come around until you’ve got your head screwed on a little better, okay?”

There’s not much for either of them to say, after that, and Hunter takes his leave almost immediately; seeing himself out without another word. Ellis sighs, slumping against the counter as his hands scrub at his face.

He stays there for a few minutes, collecting his thoughts and trying to soothe the weird pulse in his chest. He’s had significantly less forceful, slippery confessions before, but they never failed to confuse and unsettle him. Cheeky comments carried undertones of interest. Compliments and banter felt like minefields. He’d had his assumptions about _why_ it felt so strange, and his largest theory was still outside with the dog.

Bracing himself, Ellis went to the door and pulled it open, Nick’s name on his tongue. Whistling carries through the air, and his voice dies before it can leave him, his gaze straining into the dark.

Nick is seated in the grass, just beyond the light cast by the kitchen. Cherry sits beside him, his hand stroking along her spine, golden rings flashing as the aimless tune breaks the relative quiet of the night. One of those rings pledges loyalty to an entity Ellis can only guess at; something that has connected their lives for good or for ill without either of them realizing they had it in common.

“Nick?” The whistling dies, and Nick’s head turns, his expression grave. It vanishes in a heartbeat, replaced with that slow, creeping grin that Ellis feels like he can never get enough of. It’s not a true Blue Moon smile, though, because it doesn’t quite make it to his eyes.

“We need to talk,” Nick guesses, though it’s more of a statement.

“Yeah. Yeah, we do. Then we can eat.” Nick hauls himself up and trots back to the door, Cherry slipping past Ellis’s legs before he moves to let his guest inside. They settle at the table, where they were before Hunter arrived, and the kitchen is quiet for several long minutes.

 

* * *

 

“I worked as a con artist, for a gang,” Nick offers eventually, twisting the Hell’s Legion ring around his finger. Ellis watches him quietly, foot gently tapping against the floor.

“So I’ve heard.” Nick fidgets, then continues.

“I was second-man to the leader - most knew him as Blackjack, as he was a little too clever with the cards. Nobody wanted to play ‘im. But he had a soft heart, Blackjack, and when he, uh, came across me with a gun to my head, he made a deal with me. One game of cards, winner owned my life.” Ellis had sat up, alerted by the delicate phrasing of Nick’s words, the way his gaze darted around, never resting long, and never coming anywhere near Ellis himself. “He won, as you can imagine, and from then on, I was under his wing. Took a minute for him to cancel my debt, but when he decided I was stable enough, he… said I could do what I wanted.”

“Where is he now?” Nick shrugs lightly.

“Last I heard, he was traveling in the south, somewhere. Passed the reins of the operation to some other guy, not long after I bowed out of it.”

“You’re not a conman anymore, then.” Nick nods, finally looking at his companion.

“Thought seven years was seven too many, and there’s other stuff I want to do with my miserable self. Can’t hustle cards forever.”

“Do you miss it?” Nick considers that for a moment, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth.

“I miss some of the people,” he finally says. “Not so much the constant strain of working against and with people with terrifying numbers of connections.” Ellis hums, hand knotting together under the table.

“Did you ever kill anyone?” Nick twitches, a strange expression flashing across his face.

“I… shot a man,” he finally says. “Over in Boston. He was bragging about…” Nick inhales, shoulders hunching as he stares beyond the table. “He deserved it,” he finally says, grey eyes flicking upwards to meet Ellis’s gaze. “I wasn’t gonna let him walk away after I heard the things he said. I don’t regret it.”

That, Ellis considers; taking in the muted anger on Nick’s face. A distant memory floats to his mind - a stray news report of a registered pedophile being found with a bullet lodged in his stomach, and a rather bashed-in face, and the pieces fall into place.

“Sounds like a bad guy,” he finally says, solemn. Nick exhales, dark humor giving him a smile that prickles Ellis’s spine.

“More than anyone might understand.”

“Your debt,” Ellis prompts, and Nick’s knee-jerk deflective laughter in reply has him frowning. “Nick.”

“I’m far beyond that,” Nick reassures, forcing down his manic grin. “It was… a desperate moment, that I doubt I’ll find myself in ever again.” Ellis gazes at him for a few moments, then nods.

“I’m here,” he says, almost airily, and the conversation ends there, for the moment. Nick excuses himself to reheat their food, and Ellis lets him go, but his own hands are busy, shooting off a message to a number he knows by heart.

 

* * *

 

Lottie comes home ten minutes later, and if she squeezes Nick extra tightly for an extra long moment in the privacy of the kitchen, and they both come away with eyes a little misty, then that’s between the two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely not my best work, but I tried!  
> Fluff should be arriving in a week or two, followed by the companion pieces. Oneshots may be here sooner than that, considering my muse has returned to me. We will see.  
> Take care of yourselves, drink your water, go for a stroll, and pet a dog. (Cherry - based on a black lab in my family - would like the humans to be moderately healthy and happy.)


	7. Certainty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [What Ellis sang that first night.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ySP25A2Rx3g)  
> Closing in on the last bit before the sequel! It's exciting, really, even if I did have to go out and lasso my muse by the ankle and drag them home to get this part done.  
> Will be busy busy busy these next two weeks, but after that I should be able to sit down and hammer out the last chapter. After that, the compilation of one-offs and the sequel, and then whatever particular fic jockeys its way into first place.  
> Hope you like the more-fluffy final moments.  
> Didn't edit this, and didn't have my glasses on, so if you see a mistake, let me know!

Nick’s surprised yell has Ellis dashing down the stairs at top speed, bat in his hand. He stumbles into the wall opposite the stairs, and turns, already focused on the scuffle taking place - two bodies wrestling in the dark.

“Hey, hey!” He slaps at the lightswitch, tossing the bat down and throwing himself into the fray, dragging the two apart with some difficulty. “Jesus shit, y’all, calm down!”

Nick looks absolutely feral - eyes wide and wild, teeth bared and hair a frizzy mess, with a few angry pink marks on his arms, where he must have been struck. The other man - held back easily once he recognizes Ellis, looks far rougher, though that’s mainly due to the extensive scarring visible in the light. Contracture and hypertrophic scars sit in clusters across his lower face, trailing down to his neck and into the brown sweater he wears. His eyes, a dark, dusty green, are calm, focused on Ellis.

“Mary-blessed Christ,” Ellis hisses, releasing the both of them when he’s sure Nick isn’t going to launch himself at the redhead. “Keith, it’s piss-early in the morning, man!”

“Sorry.” Keith’s voice is raspy, and each syllable is carefully delivered, sibilants pronounced with obvious deliberateness. It’s the voice of someone that had to relearn speech, at some point. “I didn’t realize someone was staying down here.” Nick slowly deflates, bristling less and less the longer he realizes that he won’t be attacked again.

“Keith…? _This_ is Keith,” he says, shooting Ellis a look very akin to that of a cat disturbed from a nap. “The dude you’ve been talking my ear off about.” Ellis’s ears burn, and he scratches the back of his neck.

“Yeah. Uh, Keith, this is Nick. Nick, this is Keith.” The two stare at each other warily, taking in details laid bare by the overhead light.

“Nice to meet you,” Nick finally allows, and Keith smiles, the expression pulling at some of his scars.

“And you’re the dude he’s talked _my_ ear off about. Nice t’finally put a face to the name and stories.”

“Likewise. You look rough.” Keith laughs - a hoarse sound that is actually somewhat endearing.

“Way I figure it, god never did want me to be a beauty. Had t’make sure I wasn’t too powerful, or I’d’a kicked his ass by now.” Nick offers a smile in return, relaxing his shoulders.

“You’re still a looker. Certain charm about the whole…” he waves a hand, gesturing to all of the redhead. “... whatever is going on here.” Keith is studying Nick intently, from his rumpled sweatshirt and wild hair to his grey eyes and wry smile.

“Ell?”

“Yeah, Keith?”

“I like this guy.” That earns a chuckle, and the air smooths out - tension snapping like a rubber band.

“Well,” Nick says, twisting his head until his neck clicks loudly. “Don’t think I’m going back t’sleep anytime soon. Coffee, Keith? Ellie?” Keith’s eyes cut sideways at Ellis, who flushes red as Nick drifts into the kitchen.

“Ellie?” Keith asks in a mutter, face screwing up in bewildered amusement.

“Shut up,” Ellis hisses, swatting at his arm before he flees after Nick. “Uh, sure! Just creamer for me, please.” Nick hums, pulling down two mugs, then a third when Keith appears at the counter, propped up on an elbow.

“How d’you like your coffee, Keith?” Nick gently nudges Ellis out of his way as he opens the fridge, simultaneously removing the glass lid to the sugar container on the counter.

“Tad of sugar is fine.” Another hum, and they all settle down as the first mug is brewed and filled. Keith’s eyes gleam when Nick adds creamer to it, giving it a few stirs before he passes it into Ellis’s hands.

“Careful,” is all he says, and Ellis nods, shooting Keith a warning glare when the redhead starts to grin. Nick doesn’t notice, already moving back to the Keurig and preparing the second cup, which goes to Keith after he spoons in the barest hint of sugar.

The third cup is given a substantial amount of creamer, and two spoons of sugar. Keith watches the process with raised eyebrows as the drink progressively pales.

“That coffee is an affront to god,” he says, and Nick chuckles.

“Lucia used to ask me if I wanted coffee with my milk. Crazy woman took hers dark as pitch and about as bitter.” Silence falls for a while, Nick squinting out the window to see the horizon barely beginning to lighten.

Keith is the one to shatter the quiet, setting down his mug and turning to where Ellis has curled into one of the softer chairs near the windows.

“So. You’re goin’ on tour soon. Feel ready?” Ellis blushes, eyes skipping to where Nick has abruptly turned his head, then down to his half-empty mug.

“‘S just a couple days, and only up the road...” Nick smiles, lowering his cup.

“Where you goin’, Tiger?” The blond starts, shooting him another glance.

“Uh, jus’... Hinesville, McRae, Albany, Columbus, Atlanta, Augusta, then back home.” He grimaces, rubbing at his neck. “‘S not a big deal, really.”

“Not a big-- It’s your first tour, Ell! That shit is huge - people like you enough to have you travel a few places!”

“It’s all still here in Georgia,” Ellis mutters, face flushing all over again. “Not like those big tours, where they cross the continent or oceans, or nothin’...”

“I’m happy for you,” Nick says simply. “I think it’s great you get to do this.” Ellis chuckles, still flustered as he nods.

“I’m excited for it, really, but I don’t want it gettin’ out of hand or anything. Keith’s goin’ with me, of course, an’...” He hesitates, dipping his head low. It’s reminiscent of a time where Ellis was always shy, and always ducked his head when making requests, and there’s a section of Nick’s soul that absolutely adores the fact that that habit has remained in some way. “Well, I was gonna ask ya if you wanted t’come along. It’s just five or six days, really, and most of that driving, but…” Nick hums, tilting his head back and forth as he thinks it over. “I know you were thinkin’ of job hunting and everything, now that you’ve decided t’stay for good, so, no hard feelings if you wanna hang back.” The ex-conman smiles, nods into his coffee.

It’s been roughly a month since Hunter came by to propose out of nowhere, and Nick has, for the moment, claimed the downstairs couch as his territory while he looks at potential houses in the nearby area. On the same note, he was searching for potential jobs, despite still having a decent sum of money at his disposal.

A not-ignorable portion of his savings went to a charity Ellis and Lottie were fond of, and another portion went to sending Lottie to France, to study fashion design. She had weakly insisted that he was wasting money, but on her last call home, she seemed to be having the time of her life, and Ellis had fervently thanked him for sending her, as it had been her childhood dream to at least learn more about the world of fashion, and where better to go for knowledge than Paris? Nick had even put her through a few language classes, so the language barrier would be slightly lessened when she went, and had taught her a few things himself. Ellis, while not being surprised that Nick spoke a little French, seemed enthralled by the fact that he did, and would sit quietly and listen during lessons, or when Nick was polishing his own skill with it.

“I think I’ll stay here,” Nick finally decided, rolling his shoulders. “Might look in on that tailoring parlor again.” Ellis smiles, veiling his disappointment.

“Fancy clothes is all it takes t’get you interested, huh?” Nick hums, pointedly looking Ellis over and making the poor man blush again.

“Not always.” Keith’s nose wrinkles, and he stands, placing his mug in the sink and running water to rinse it out.

“Real subtle,” he grumbles to Ellis as he passes by. Ellis kicks at him, quickly looking towards Nick, who had finally taken a seat, leaning one hand down to pet Cherry.

It was something they’d danced around for the past month - the mutual looking and flirty banter. Like most things, they simply moved on with their time, and never discussed what they always encouraged in the other.

Ellis sighed to himself, watching Nick over the rim of his mug as he finished his cooling coffee. They always seemed to have a damn elephant in the room, didn't they?

 

* * *

 

“Where’re you guys stopped? Albany?” Ellis hums affirmation, cloth rustling on his end of the phone call. Nick, seated on the couch, smiles faintly. “Only three more stops.”

“Feels like three too many,” Ellis murmurs. “I’m not… ungrateful. Really, I ain’t. I’m jus’ a homebody, I guess. Don’t like t’be away for too long.”

“Don’t like it either,” Nick muses, and there’s a quiet that stretches a little too long for Nick to believe that Ellis didn’t hear him.

“How… how’s Cherry doin’?”

“She’s the best,” Nick laughs, glancing down at the dark, furry shape curled into the side of his thigh. “Very cuddly.”

“That’s my girl,” Ellis laughs, and they lapse into quiet for a little while again. “How are you sleeping?”

“Not a lot,” Nick sighs, rolling his head back to rest against the couch. “It’s quiet, now that nobody’s here but me and Cherry. Ain’t used to that, I guess.” Ellis starts to speak, then cuts himself off with a cough and a clearing of his throat. “What?”

“Was gonna offer to, uh, sing for you.” His voice grows softer with each word, and it was already quiet to begin with, since Ellis and Keith were sharing a room in a hotel. “I dunno how well it would work, since I’m sure there’s loads of things to help ya sleep out online, or whatever, but--”

“I’d rather hear you,” Nick interrupts, and for a moment, all he can hear is Ellis’s breathing - soft and slow, but with a hitch right when he processes what Nick said.

“Alright. Uh, I guess… get comfortable? I don’t know how well this is gonna work, but if it does work… don’t want you getting sore or nothin’.” Nick chuckles, and eases himself down, Cherry wriggling her way through his legs until they’re both settled. “Feel kinda bad, since you’re sleepin’ on the couch in an empty house,” Ellis mutters aloud.

“I don’t mind,” Nick shrugs it off, closing his eyes once the phone is nestled close to his ear. “It’s a nice, comfortable couch.” Another pause, and then Ellis gently clearing his throat. He starts soft, more humming than words, and Nick smiles, tension bleeding out of his muscles until he’s nearly melted into the couch. He recognizes the tune after a while, and even hums along here and there, but most of his focus is bent on Ellis’s voice, and the way it dips and falls, sweet as can be every time the song calls for it.

By the end of the song, Nick’s line is quiet, save for his breathing, and Ellis smiles, tucking the phone closer to his ear as he settles down and closes his eyes.

He really wants to be home, already.

 

* * *

 

 

Ellis singing to help Nick sleep becomes a ritual of sorts, for the last few days he’s out of town. The songs are never the same, and it never takes more than three to knock Nick out. When the day comes that Ellis and Keith come home, both tired from several hours on the road, Nick is waiting for them with hot chocolate, per Ellis’s request.

Keith crashes on the couch, barely halfway through his mug, and Ellis ends up leaning on Nick’s shoulder, hiding from the afternoon light when he’s not absently drinking from his cup. Nick waits patiently, and when it becomes clear that Ellis is practically dead on his feet, Nick guides him upstairs, gives him a pile of fresh clothes, and entrusts him to the shower.

Miraculously, Ellis stumbles his way through it without injury, and is soon leaning on Nick again, arms wrapping tight around him as Nick walks him to his room. He intends to leave him there, but Ellis’s grip increases when he moves to leave, so he ends up sitting on Ellis’s bed, with Ellis half-curled onto his lap, snoring into his ribcage. The sunlight from between the blinds on the window begins to deepen, and the slots of sky he can see from his slumped angle go from bright blue to oranges and pinks, then darker, and still Ellis clings to him, blissfully asleep. Nick pets the wild mane of curls, runs his fingers through the strands, and hums quietly as Ellis dozes. Eventually, their combined warmth lulls him to sleep. He briefly surfaces when Ellis manages to pull him down, so as to avoid hurting his neck from sleeping upright, but the Southerner is not much more awake than he is, as they shuffle and cling and sigh, rolling so that Nick is on his back, arms hung around Ellis’s hips, with Ellis half-over him, clinging to his neck, mumbling nonsense into his shirt.

They sleep the night away, and well into the morning. Keith ghosts by the room, sometime around eleven, and the tangled mess of human on the bed makes him chuckle - throat gritty and eye sockets still feeling like sandpaper. Ellis has always been a tactile creature, and the sight of him wrapped around Nick like tinsel on a pine tree is more than enough amusement for Keith, who rose only to shower and eat before he drops onto the couch again.

Nobody gets up again until later that evening, when Ellis remains glued to Nick as they shuffle around the kitchen, bleary-eyed and puffy-faced. They manage to get down some food and water before retreating to cater to other needs, but they don’t sleep when they get into bed together. At least, not immediately.

Ellis is the first to address the overhanging topic - mumbling his way through a declaration of love. Nick listens, lets the words hang in the quiet for a while, before ultimately, he replies in kind, and promises that they can at least take it slow for a while, with the justification that Nick wants to ensure that he’s doing this whole relationship thing correctly, for once. It’s nothing fantastic, and certainly not flashy or dramatic, but it’s more than enough as they lay there together, drifting halfway to sleep and thinking mostly of each other as they go. Ellis drops off first, leaving a drowsy Nick, loopy on sleep and feeling a little bold, to plant kisses on Ellis's cheeks, nose, forehead, eyelids. Everywhere Nick can reach on his face, Ellis gets a kiss.

" _Love ya,"_ Nick mumbles, shuffling Ellis just a little closer in his arms. He means it completely, and while he's still adamant on having the brakes on for a while, this is one thing he won't muffle or subdue. It's as certain as the sun rising every morning, and as sure as the tide rolling in. Nick falls asleep not long after, midway through running a hand in Ellis's curly hair.

It's the best sleep he's had in years.


	8. Finality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I'm back with the last bit of RM!  
> 3.6~k words of fluff and silliness, and maybe like twenty words of angstiness?  
> Well, you get what's here, and I did not edit this because I finished it much later than I would have liked, but it gave me a chance to reflect on where it was going, and how it had changed since beginning some two and a half months ago (?). Anyway, shout out any grammar or spelling errors, please and thank you!  
> Hope you enjoy!

“Where did that cat come from?” Nick looks up at Ellis from the grass he’s sitting in, a sizable slate-grey cat repeatedly head-butting and rubbing against his leg, a powerful purr already rumbling in the air.

“Just wandered up,” Nick says, grinning as he reaches for the cat, who quickly climbs into his lap, claws working at the fabric of his jeans. “Real friendly guy, and Cherry doesn’t seem to mind him.” Ellis searches for his dog, then rolls his eyes.

“Cherry is busy pissin’ in the bushes, Nick. As for the cat… well, that’s Jacques Faulkner.”

“ _Jacques Faulkner_?” Nick repeats, laughing. “Oh, shit, and here I was, calling him Hammer.”

“Hammer?” Nick gestures at the feline, who has settled nicely on Nick’s knee, pale green eyes narrowing in delight as the purr rumbles deep in his chest.

“He’s got the color of one, and he’s quite… hefty. At a guess, I’d say he’s maybe eighteen pounds?” Ellis’s smile is slow to appear, but when it does, it grows quickly.

“God’s gotta be havin’ some kinda holiday upstairs.” Nick looks up again, from where he was paying special attention to Hammer’s massive ruff of fur, taking note of Ellis’s amusement.

“What makes you say that?”

“Jacques - well, Hammer, I guess - was Hunter’s cat. Up and fucked off about a week ago, from what I’ve heard through the grapevine.” Nick laughs, and it takes him a minute to force the words out.

“Hammer’s been comin’ around since about the day you left for your tour,” he wheezes, and Ellis lets out an ungodly snort - a sound that has him covering his face and turning away, shaking with the force of repressed laughter.

“You’re fuckin’ kidding me,” he breathes, smile straining from the force behind it. “You have to be absolutely joking.” They let themselves indulge in the slightly hysterical fit for a moment, Hammer completely unconcerned as he bounces gently on Nick’s lap, though his claws do seem to dig in a little more when the shakes become too violent. Ellis wipes his eyes, shaking his head and sighing. “God, this is unreal. Also, darlin’?” Nick’s head whips up, expression shifting into surprised delight that has Ellis’s ears burning. “Uh, next time we pick up an animal, try to come up with a better name, because really. Hammer? All the names you coulda-- hey! Don’t laugh, you asshole! I like the name, it’s jus’ silly! Who names a cat _Hammer_? Okay, sure, it’s better’n Jacques Faulkner-- stop laughin’!”

 

* * *

 

Things change that month. Nick does find himself a job, working as a sales associate in a jewelry store, and officially moves in with Ellis and Lottie. They begin renovations in two of the spare rooms - one becomes a bedroom for Keith, and the other turns into a small fashion studio for Lottie in preparation for her December return.

Not two weeks after Hammer inserts himself into the family, in all his proud, grey fluffiness, Ellis and Nick are stopping by a nearby pound, after Ellis saw a flyer about a litter of puppies freshly picked up.

Cherry hunches on the floor, nosing at the chain link fence that separates her from the horde of miniature canines.

“Basset hound,” Nick notes, eyes on the massive ears that trail to the floor from each pup’s head. Ellis hums acknowledgement, lips pursed.

“Lady at th’ desk said they all‘ve had their shots and whatnot, and are old enough to be separated…”

A puppy sits a little separate from the rest, and his ears are even bigger than those of his littermates.

“Looks like we have a Dumbo,” Nick muses with a grin, and Ellis absently, gently, socks his arm.

“Be nice. Little mite is teeny-tiny. Reckon that’s the runt.”

“I’d put money on it.” They watch the pup for a while, and Nick speaks up again. “Wanna take ‘im? He’ll fit right in with whatever the hell kinda family situation we have going on at the house, and Cherry seems to be alright with the pups in general.” Ellis hums, then nods.

Not twenty minutes, and somewhere around $80 later, Ellis is carrying the basset runt, newly named Cooper, out to the truck, cooing incessantly. Cherry trots beside him, attention divided between her master, and the squirmy bundle he carries.

Nick ribs him about the name for several days, because it’s ‘so typically _Southern_. At least Hammer is all-inclusive.’ He gets kicked off the bed a few times for that, but Ellis always lets him back up.

 

* * *

 

Lottie is grinning from ear to ear as she opens her arms for Nick, and he steps into them gladly, sinking into the familiar fragrance of her perfume - Chanel’s Chance eau Tendre - and pressing his face into her shoulder. She’s never worn anything else, and the lingering sweet smell kicks him backwards in time to his youth and, after four months without her, it packs a heavier punch. He’s quietly grateful they’re the only ones home at the moment.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she murmurs, rocking gently on her feet, and he hums, but his voice snags a bit, and he hopes she can’t feel the unstable way his face twitches against her sweater, though it’s very likely she does. “I hear you’ve been busy with my son,” she teases, and that coaxes a laugh up his throat. “Expanding the family, rearranging the house, my, my, what a nice man you’ve grown into.”

“I missed you, Lottie,” he manages, drawing back and clearing his throat. She smiles at him, all softness and warm grey eyes as she cups his face in her hands.

“I missed you too, sugar.” They bask for a moment longer, but then she’s brushing into the kitchen with a passing laugh, clanking around as she searches for her favorite mug. It gives him a moment to compose himself, and he takes it gladly. “Now, let’s get something to drink. I want to hear all about what I missed.” Her head appears around the doorframe, eyebrows raised at his still figure. “What are you doing out there, Nick? Get in the kitchen and make your sweet Miz McKinney some tea!” He laughs fully then, a grin making his entire face ache as he approaches the kitchen, and her poorly-concealed smile.

“Yes, Miz McKinney.” He fixes them both tea - strawberry for himself, and earl grey for Lottie, who accepts the mug with a pleased smile.

“So! Word is you and my son are getting along like a house on fire.” Her eyes are teasing, and he smiles into his tea.

“Always have, save for when I up and fucked off North for a decade.” Lottie waved it off, reaching under the table, where Cherry had taken her usual place by her feet.

“Oh, sweetheart, he forgave that a long, long time ago. Anyway, all relationships have snags. Shows you’re both growing.” Nick chuckles softly, glancing down into his mug, but after a moment, the smile fades, and he risks a glance at her through his eyelashes. She looks so relaxed, sitting in her kitchen with her dog at her feet and her son’s lover across the table, that he almost doesn’t want to bring up the elephant he’d discovered. But, if he’s going to go through with this life, the one he can have with Ellis, and therefore her and Keith, he needs to.

“... Lottie.”

“Yes baby?” Nick slides his Hell’s Legion ring off of his finger, pushing it across the table. She picked it up, turning the worn gold over in her hands until the logo faced her. One fingertip ran across the image, her lips pressing together. “Hell’s Legion.” Her eyes flick up to him, betraying nothing, but he can see a gathering storm in the way her eyebrows slant. “Where did you get this ring, Nick?”

“A man gave it to me.” He decides that he won’t tell her everything. Blame it on his avoidant tendencies, but even he thinks Lottie should be spared knowing exactly how his younger years went, at the side of the man who kept him alive until he could trust himself with his own life again. “Said I should keep it as a memento of our meeting, and because he didn’t want to wear it anymore.”

“Hell’s Legion has been around for over two decades,” she says softly, and he nods.

“That’s what he told me.” Her eyes crinkle at the edges.

“Did you happen to catch his name?”

“Elijah.” Saying it is easier than he thought it would be. “Said that even if I wore it, it wouldn’t mean anything. In my travels, I heard they ultimately disbanded, sometime earlier this year.”

“People die,” she says, pursing her lips and fussing with her mug. “Not ideas or ideals. I wouldn’t doubt if an offshoot springs up somewhere.”

“Maybe. I just… I saw a few clippings around the house, and Ellis briefly mentioned that his father was connected--” Lottie drops the ring to the tabletop and stands, turning away quickly

“Old history,” she interrupts, moving to the sink. “Not important anymore. Thanks for the tea, honey. I think I’m going to take a nap, if you’d take Cherry out for a bit?”

“Yes, ma’am.” She skirts around the table, glancing at the abandoned ring for a fraction of a second before whisking away upstairs. Nick waits until he hears her door close before he rises, Cherry wandering out from beneath the table to join him by the door.

As the coonhound putters around the yard, Nick stays on the porch, arms crossed. At least he’d spoken to Lottie about Hell’s Legion, rather than letting it fester any longer.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Ellie,” Ellis glances up from his book, twisting his head to look at Nick, who smiles at him, small and amused. “Can I have a kiss?” Ellis rolls his eyes, but leans up to press a smooch to his lips anyway before turning back to his book.

“Any reason why?” Nick shrugs, still watching Ellis’s profile.

“Missed you.” Ellis snorts, peeking at him for a moment as his cheeks flush.

“We’ve been sitting here for, like, an hour. Coulda asked to change it up, or something.” Nick chuckled, shaking his head.

“It’s fine, sweetheart. I miss you all the time, anyway. Bit greedy of me, but I’ve always been a selfish prick.” Ellis smacked at him with the book, laughing.

“Aw, shut up, you’re great.”

“Of course I am, I’m _me._ ”

“I take it all back. Don’t ever speak to me again.”

“Love you too.” Ellis tips his head back again, grinning at him, and Nick leans down to kiss his nose. “Probably need to get some shuteye. Work in the morning, you know.” Ellis hums and stands, setting the book aside and climbing up onto the bed as Nick makes room. They curl up together, Nick’s arms winding tightly around Ellis’s waist, pulling them snugly together.

“Nick?” His voice is soft and lazy, fingers running lightly over Nick’s knuckles.

“Hmm.”

“I’m real in love with you, you know.” Nick grins, pressing his face to Ellis’s shoulder before he mutters his reply.

“I’m real in love with you too, Sunshine.” For a few minutes, they’re quiet, and then Ellis giggles, prompting Nick to reopen his eyes. “Wh’s up, giggles?” As a response, Ellis turns in his embrace, hands sliding up his neck to cup his face.

“Yer jus’ cute,” he whispers, scooting up for another kiss. Then another. Then another. They trade kisses for several minutes, grinning like fools and watching each other the best they can in the dark. Ellis lures him into sitting up before he makes his move, swinging a leg over Nick’s lap and getting comfortable, the blanket sliding off to pool around them both.

“Ellie,” Nick mutters, trying and failing to stave off the tidal wave of kisses. He has to laugh - for all he assumed he’d be forward when it came to intimacy, Ellis was being very bold. “What’s brought this on, Sunshine?” Even in the dark, he can see Ellis blush, his fingers gently combing through the wavy strands that brush Ellis’s neck and face.

“Jus’ like touchin’ ya, is all,” he finally admits, closing his eyes and leaning in to press their foreheads together. “Feels like home.”

“Ain’t that cute,” Nick drawls, hands gliding down Ellis’s back, tracing over each section of spine he can feel, passing over the dimples he can feel close to Ellis’s hips. “Anythin’ else?” Ellis grins - he can tell by the way he huffs out a breath into the space between them.

“Nothin’ gets past ya, does it?” A sigh as Ellis loosens himself - leaning heavily against Nick’s shoulder. “I dunno, it just…” he laughs again, awkward and shy. “I guess I feel like I gotta catch up to ya when it comes to this, uh, _stuff_.”

“What, sex?” Ellis laughs again, but he relaxes further.

“Yeah. I don’t… know much, and I had it in my head that you’re some kinda… well experienced guy. Got me worried I wouldn’t be good, or be able to keep up, and it’s been five months since we decided to be exclusive.” Nick hums, hands wandering, dancing over Ellis’s back in abstract shapes.

“You think I’m worried about somethin’ like that, Sunshine? I love you. You’re enough for me, whatever you’re like. We’ll talk, too. That’s what this is all about, sweetheart. Goin’ slow, figuring it out together.” Ellis laughed again, but it was a happy, comforted sound.

“Thank you, Nick. Guess we both still have things to learn, huh?”

“Speak for yourself,” Nick replies haughtily, laying them both down again. “I’m perfect.” Ellis snorts, sprawling his limbs out comfortably as he rests his weight on his boyfriend.

“God, I hate you.”

“I know, Sunshine. Get some sleep.”

 

* * *

 

“I’m home!” Nick slammed the laptop shut as Ellis passed into the kitchen, earning himself an amused look. “What, looking at porn or something?” Nick laughed, scrunching his nose in the way Ellis loved as he rose to his feet.

“Nah. Doing research for the shop, and it’s getting frustrating.” He loops an arm around Ellis’s waist, leaning over his shoulder to press a kiss to his cheek. “How was your day?”

“It was nice. Cooper’s been doing well in obedience training, and Cherry keeps him in line outside of it. How’s the house?”

“Lottie’s been scheming in her craft room, and Hammer’s around here somewhere. Is it just me, or is he getting a little chubby?” Ellis snorted, closing his eyes and resting against Nick, who swayed them both gently.

“He’s always been fat. You’re just in denial because you love him.”

“Purr-haps.” Ellis opened his eyes and broke free, fighting down a grin.

“No. I don’t know who you are. You’re a stranger, telling puns in my kitchen. Get out.”

“I made out with you in this kitchen like eight hours ago,” Nick returned, unbothered. “There’s some leftover pasta in the fridge, if you need a bite. Are we still taking that family walk, minus Hammer, to the docks tonight for the festival?” Ellis moves to retrieve the food, smiling.

“Yeah. Keith should be home in another hour, and we can start down there before dark. Should be right on time.”

“‘Kay. Let me shower off the garden and I’ll be down again in like, ten minutes.”

“I’ll be here. Love you.”

“Love you too, Ellis.”

 

* * *

 

The festival was the perfect time. Nick was keenly aware of that fact, and, after planning this for a year, he was more convinced than ever to go through with it. Luckily, Lottie and Keith made for an excellent wingman and woman, and thus far, his plan was going off without a hitch.

They walked around with the dogs, and after appropriate lengths of time, split off on their own, shooting covert, knowing smiles at Nick as they left.

Within an hour, he and Ellis were alone, save for Cooper, who stayed at Ellis’s side faithfully.

“Is it just me,” Ellis said after a while, glancing backwards through the cluster of vendors. “Or did they leave us together on purpose?”

“I dunno. Maybe they think they’re being slick, since we’re coming up on a year together.”

“Maybe,” Ellis chuckled. “Not very subtle hinting, either, if that is their plan.” Nick smiled, taking Ellis’s hand.

“C’mon, I wanted to grab something sweet.” Ellis chuckled, but followed along, Cooper keeping easy pace with his puppy energy.

They ended up getting sweet crepes, and eating them in a more secluded spot out of the busy thoroughfare of the festival. The sun had been sinking for a while, creating a need for the string lights hung on and between each tent. The docks area came to life in a warm glow that lit up their little trio in flattering shades of gold. Ellis closed his eyes, tipping his head back and listening to the hum of the crowd just a few yards away. Nick watched him for a few minutes, then purposefully dropped his plate on the ground.

“Ah, shit,” he muttered, scooting down onto his knees to pick it up. A glance confirmed that Ellis hadn’t reacted, other than a tiny smirk playing over his mouth. “Real cute look, there, Ellie,” he sniped, all bark with no bite.

“Ain’t my fault you’re clumsy,” Ellis replied. Nick smiled, nipping the inside of his cheek by accident. His hand dipped into his pocket, removing a small package that had been burning a hole in his soul for several days now.

“Ellis?” The shift in his voice, whatever it was, made Ellis open his eyes and look down at him, muffled surprise and a touch of concern on his face.

“What’s up, Nick? Need a hand?” Nick paused for a moment, then sighed. Ellis was a little too ethereal for him to focus, and he knew that very well.

“I had a whole speech planned, but, uh, my mind is blanking now.” Ellis blinked, eyebrows furrowing, but he didn’t say anything. “So, I’ll just kinda…” Nick breathed in deeply, then looked up at his boyfriend, lifting the package into view. It was a plain black ringbox, without decoration, and it held Nick’s focus, now that it was in the open, and Ellis had seen it. “Uh… Ellis, I’ve known you for about fourteen years, give or take the fact I was gone for a lot of them, and I’ve been your boyfriend for one of them. I’ve never really understood why people get so mushy gushy over shit, but when I’m with you, I feel like a pile of romantic, tooth-rotting goo. Which is kind of gross to say, now that I think about it. Shit. Anyway, uh, Ellis McKinney, I totally had a plan, and then I fucked it all up, but, will you marry me?”

“Ho-ly shit,” Ellis mumbled. Then he laughed quietly. “Babe, you forgot to open the box.”

“Huh? Ah, fuck!” Nick did so, revealing a wooden ring with a strip of opal running through the middle of the band. “It’s… I know it’s simple, but all the other shit didn’t look like you, so I took some liberties.” Ellis studied it for a moment before glancing at him.

“Do you have one?” Nick lifted his hand, indicating the silver and black band.

“Nice and plain, but a little stylish.” Ellis rolled his eyes.

“Dork. Yes, I’ll marry you. Can’t believe you pulled this shit on me.” Nick grinned, leaning up to kiss him before taking the ring out and sliding it onto Ellis’s finger.

“Sorry. Romantic pile of goo, remember?”

“Ahuh.” Lottie, Cherry, and Keith emerged from the tents, the humans armed with phones and wide grins.

“We got everything,” Lottie said, her eyes shining.

“Way to go, fancypants,” Keith added, slapping Nick on the back. “Take care of him.”

“Of course,” Nick said, reaching for Ellis’s hand. “Wouldn’t dream of anything otherwise. I actually…” he leaned around his family, searching the crowd. “... called a friend to meet us here, just in case it went well.”

“Oh? Was it Francis?” Nick snorted, shaking his head.

“Nah, that lazy fucker won’t come anywhere for me. No, this is--”

“Nick!” A wide grin stretched Nick’s face, and he released his fiancé, walking quickly towards the source of the voice.

“Elijah!” He collided with the tall man, who hugged him tightly, smelling of leather and smoke.

“There’s my little _diablo_! I’ve been worrying for nothing, I see-- the happiness on your face can only mean the man you told me about said yes!”

“He did,” Nick laughed, elated. He missed Lottie’s expression as he reeled Elijah into the cluster of faces. Similarly, Elijah was too focused on Nick to notice the people around him. “Elijah, this is Ellis. Ellis, Elijah.” The two men looked at each other, and then paused.

“I know those eyes,” Elijah said softly, his expression tired and a little older than usual. He lifted a hand, lightly touching Ellis’s cheek. “I know that name.” Ellis was staring at him, expression pinched, as if he was trying to remember if they’d met.

“ _Elijah_.” He stilled entirely at the sound of Lottie’s disbelieving voice, then slowly turned. Nick’s question died in his throat, upon seeing the tender, almost painfully loving expression on his mentor’s face.

“Charlotte.” Her own expression was raw hurt and anger, blazing like a sun.

“Mom?” Ellis’s voice was tense, moving to stand between the two with a guarded expression. “Who is this guy?”

“He’s--”

“I’m--” They stared at each other like wild animals meeting for the first time, and she looked away first, face closing off. Elijah turned back to Ellis, smiling ruefully. “I’m your father, Elijah Jackson.” He paused, then held out a hand sheepishly. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Ellis… under the circumstances, I hope you feel the same.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next, Forget Me Not - the whirlwind tale of Lottie and Elijah, two teens who fell in love a bit too hard and never quite got over each other, twined with the story of their son getting married, and domestic life in their house in general!  
> Excited? I sure am.  
> Been quite busy with work lately, so FMN may take a little bit to begin appearing, but it will appear.  
> Comment your favorite things about RM, what you hope for in FMN, and any thoughts you have on the characters!  
> Once again, special thanks to my wife for inspiring me to write this silly thing, and for cheering me on to the finish, and for looking up wedding rings because I asked her to channel her Ellis brain.  
> Alright, dorks, catch you later!  
> \- Angie


End file.
